Shades Of Grey
by Lancynth
Summary: *NEW Chap8!*Partial AU, 13x6 lime yaoi. The scientists played with biology before they played with metal, and the results became people with a secret, more feral side (in a literal sense). But Man can be crueler than any known Beast...
1. Some Things Were Perfectly Clear

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
  
  
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Disclaimer--I don't own Gundam Wing. However, if they were willing to sell their rights to me. . . Well, anyway, "Shades of Grey" is a song by Billy Joel, and strangely appropriate for this tale.  
  
Warnings--Eventual 13x6, which means man + man, lime at the worst, but not for some chapters down the line.  
  
Synopsis--AU where the mobile suits aren't the most dangerous weapon--the pilots are! The scientists played with biology before they played with metal, and the results became people with a secret, more feral side (in a literal sense). But Man can be crueler than any known Beast. . .  
  
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"Shades of grey wherever I go  
  
The more I find out the less that I know  
  
Black and white is how it should be  
  
But shades of grey are the colors I see. . . "  
  
  
  
Chapter 1-Some Things Were Perfectly Clear  
  
**A look into labs that shouldn't have existed, but did, before higher authorities made a move. And a look at the results of that move, in ways unexpected. . . **  
  
AC 191  
  
The young Specials Lieutenant Treize Kushrenada trailed after General Catalonia as the man inspected the facility, his keen eyes scanning about the deceptive surroundings. The simple walls and steel doors of the corridor inside this heavily-secured ex-prison facility hinted nothing of the experimentation going on within. Things that his commander--his uncle-- felt were inhumane. What exactly, they were here to find out. Not everyone felt that the Circe Project should be discontinued, however, inhumane or not. The Romefeller Organization, though at the moment under the pretense of being only a financial organization, had a strong faction in favor of continuing the project, led by Duke Dermail. But General Catalonia had once confided to his nephew that he had a bad feeling about this project, and if he had to step on his own father's toes to end something as inhumane as this was rumored to be, he had no qualms about it.  
  
//I have to agree. What we heard sounded far-fetched, but the only possible ways of accomplishing such things would be. . . probably a horrible experience for the subjects involved. And our spies suggested that few subjects were voluntary. . . // Treize mused, pacing a step behind and to Catalonia's left.  
  
General Catalonia stopped when the corridor they were in reached a branch, and glanced over at his nephew, eyes sharp and sly. "Lieutenant Treize," he began.  
  
Treize saluted smartly, heels clicking as he put them together. "Sir!" //I wonder if he's going to suggest what I think he will. . . //  
  
The older man smiled slowly, privately. "I do not need to be accompanied to the old warden's office where the head of this project is holding the meeting. Perhaps you would like to wander around and see what they /won't/ be telling me."  
  
"Yes sir!" But Treize's mouth quirked slightly as he saluted again. //Yes. And find the truths behind the rumors, while I'm at it. That's why you brought me along, isn't it? They would hardly try to silence someone related to their project's patron, Duke Dermail.//  
  
Catalonia nodded to acknowledge the second salute, then turned and began down the branching corridor, leaving Treize alone at the crossing.  
  
Smiling slowly, Treize tapped his chin as he turned to scrutinize the corridor he was in. //Where to start my prying. . . ? They would hardly house their problems here, on the main floor, near the entrance. That would be displaying their flaws. But the highest security section, where the worst criminals were held-that would be more promising! And that is. . . //  
  
The young man had to pause, hand reaching to rub the bridge of his nose, as he tried to recollect his brief glimpse of the map of the facility that both he and General Catalonia had peered at briefly on the trip here. His memory was good, however, and he took his bearing towards the west wing, looking for a staircase down.  
  
//That is in the basement, one floor down, at the far west end of the west wing of the main building. A good place to hide dark secrets, and from more than just daylight.//  
  
The walk was not long, and took him to a set of high-voltage gates that thrummed so audibly that he heard them before he saw them, locking the whole west wing of the massive building from the outside world. Thick woven metal bars thrummed with enough electricity to stun a man, with a pad to the right of them awaiting a palm print and signs on the walls screaming "Restricted", "Danger!", "High Voltage--Keep Back!", and "Unauthorized Personnel Enter At Their Own Risk". The latter sign made Treize pause, frowning thoughtfully.  
  
"Is that some kind of a joke?" he murmured to himself, staring at the wing behind the gates, which seemed no different from the ones he'd already passed through: plain corridor and steel doors with small windows set in them. Nothing indicated a danger to mere pedestrians of the hallway. Not even a "Caution--Wet Floor" sign from the janitorial staff. //Someone has a twisted sense of humor, then.//  
  
"Not exactly, young man," an amused voice chuckled behind him, as something clicked behind his back.  
  
//A gun?// Treize turned slowly, to blink in surprise at a maimed-looking shorter man in a white lab coat. The clicking came from a three-prong claw the man clacked together and used to point at the sign in question. Sharp, squinty eyes bore into the young soldier through visual prosthetics that resembled goggles. //A doctor?// Blue eyes found the identification card clipped to the lab coat, and Treize smiled. //Yes--Doctor Johnson. I don't /remember/ that name being on our list of researchers involved, though. . . One they're keeping secret?//  
  
"I'm Lieutenant Treize Kushrenada, from General Catalonia's inspection party. I trust that the sign doesn't apply to /Authorized/ personnel?" he asked mischievously.  
  
The doctor smiled slowly, eye-lenses gleaming as he turned his head towards the sign. "Sometimes it does. . . We've lost a few people over the years," he admitted. "In fact, that's the greatest flaw in the project. But perhaps you'd care to see what exactly we're making, hmmm?"  
  
Treize bowed to the man, smirking as he performed the almost insulting action flawlessly. //Ah, you're playing with me. But /you/ don't seem interested in hiding the things I'm here to find out. I wonder why. . . // "Of course. That's why I'm here."  
  
Dr. J chuckled softly, taking the mocking bow in stride as he moved to the palm-plate to press his good hand on the pulsing blue pad and open the gates. But as the gates swung open inward, his mischief and mirth sobered swiftly, and sharp squinty eyes regarded Treize assessingly. "What you're about to observe goes against the Geneva Conventions and all thoughts of humane treatment of our fellow human beings. Not all of us who joined the project were informed about /what/ our subjects were to be when we signed up. I, personally, was informed that we would be working with dogs. . . "  
  
//Ah, now we get down to business. You don't like the project, though you are participating with it.// Treize decided to be frank with the man, as the man wasn't holding things back from him. "They're prisoners, aren't they." Not so much a question as a statement to be confirmed.  
  
Dr. J glanced over his shoulder at Treize as he led the way into the restricted area. "Not exactly. Though if simply being considered a threat or nuisance to Romefeller is a crime, then yes."  
  
Treize's teeth gritted at that. //Worse than we suspected, then. . . // "If you can confirm that. . . "  
  
The doctor shook his head in slow denial as he led the way to a side- corridor and between rooms that had steel sliding shutters over the windows. . . as if the occupants could shatter even that thick glass and use those palm-sized openings to break out.  
  
"No, I cannot confirm it, nor can--or will--anyone else. A prisoner's word means nothing to the law, and that's all there is to go on. But death would have been kinder to most of them. . . for some, it still is a mercy beyond their reach."  
  
Immediately, Treize decided he wanted to speak to one of the test subjects. //I want to know where these innocents come from. I want to know who has been wronged. . . // "Why do you say that?"  
  
"Not all my recommendations are accepted by those in charge of this project. But that's neither here nor there. The project has accomplished one thing, though. . . "  
  
Treize's ears perked. "What is that?"  
  
"It teaches us what it means to be human," Dr. J murmured softly, almost sadly.  
  
Frowning, Treize rubbed his chin and glanced at the sealed doors they passed. //That certainly wasn't one of the goals. . . But testing on people is crueler than on lab rats.// "I thought the project was supposed to enhance and improve human beings. . . preferably soldiers."  
  
Dr. J frowned slightly but didn't answer at the time, and used his claw to open a pair of steel double doors, entering a small room that presented another pair of similar doors--with three bar locks visible on their side, locked--and a plain door to the right. Choosing the small one to the right, he knocked on it with the claw.  
  
Someone opened it to let them in, holding it open--another short doctor whose hair resembled a mushroom over his scarred face. Sly beady eyes peered at the pair, narrowing at the sight of Treize looming over Dr. J's shoulder.  
  
//This looks less like they're hiding something and more like they're trying to /contain/ something. . . I don't like the signs,// Treize mused grimly, mouth firming into a thin line.  
  
"You like this so much that you've brought the peanut gallery with you?" the new doctor sneered.  
  
Dr. J snorted, taking his peer's temperament in stride as if accustomed to this kind of greeting. "Who are we watching today?" he asked, as if no mention of Treize had been made.  
  
"Twelve and Six." When Dr. J's face narrowed into a frown, the other doctor turned away, adding, "It wasn't our planning--the higher-ups demanded it. They want Six to try to kill finally."  
  
"Nothing in this place offers him a reason to /live/--so how can he have a reason to kill?" Dr. J muttered.  
  
"Tell that to the higher-ups." The nasty little doctor stepped aside to let them enter the room fully, the door swinging shut behind Treize with a locking click.  
  
The surveillance room had a large, thick, one-way glass window that offered a view to most of a large, gym-sized room, bare of any furnishing, with automatic doors to either end. Monitors, from cameras set high in the corners of the room to be watched, offered a glimpse into the areas the glass couldn't expose. Computer monitors and other gadgets offered numerical information on subjects beyond Treize's comprehension.  
  
Both doctors took the two chairs available, before the nasty little one spoke into a microphone jutting from among the unidentified observation equipment under the window.  
  
"Begin Test. Send in Twelve."  
  
//Are their subjects just numbers to them?// Treize wondered, as the door on the left side of the testing room slid aside. . .  
  
A young man, perhaps Treize's own age, clad in a plain grey-blue T-shirt and similar loose pants, stood in the doorway. He appeared ordinary enough, with dirty blonde hair cut in a military buzz, a comely enough face, and a lean, muscular body that suggested that perhaps he /could/ break through the thick glass that formed the small windows of the imprisoning cells.  
  
But the man's eyes made Treize draw back, jaw opening slightly in horror.  
  
//Mad. He's as insane as a rabid dog! That. . . That /thing/ can't be called a man anymore--those eyes. . . ! And it's not just insanity, but something darker, what you see in an eager killer's eyes even as he cuts an innocent victim open. . . //  
  
Both doctors were watching his reaction curiously, not observing the mad test subject looking expectantly around the testing room.  
  
Dr. J gestured at the insane man awaiting their attention. "As you can see, the project's main goal was making the perfect soldier. . . "  
  
The nasty one made a snorting sound, turning back to the view of the test room and the sole occupant. "The perfect /killer/, you mean. . . The perfect killer is a monster. So the project's successful--it's not our fault that the perfect murderer cannot be controlled."  
  
Treize felt his stomach twist sickeningly. "He's mad. . . " //Good soldiers don't kill when unnecessary--but /this/ thing would!//  
  
"/None/ of them can be controlled," Dr. J sighed. "That's the flaw. Not all are mad, like Twelve here, though all have a lot of anger issues, among other problems." Light glinted off the man's eye-lenses as he glared at his fellow, and he added accusingly, "He'll rip Six to shreds. . . "  
  
Tilting his head, Treize considered the doctor's tone. //Is he fond of some of his test subjects? Are they /allowed/ to be fond of them? Probably not, in case they become fond of /all/ the unfortunates forced into this study.//  
  
The nasty little doctor smirked back at Dr. J. "Six doesn't fall that easily, for all that he doesn't care to live. I just wish he /would/ kill, and put Twelve's madness to peace finally." Bending over the mike, he added sharply, "Send in Six."  
  
The door to the right opened, but nobody came through, just a flicker of movement beyond the range of their vision--and an audible snarl, followed by someone's shriek of pain.  
  
Twelve glared sharply at that open door, but made no move towards it, instead tensing and crouching slightly in preparation to fight.  
  
Dr. J groaned, and reached for a switch. "Six is attacking his handlers again. . . They'll put him on the termination list for sure soon."  
  
"Termination list?" Treize asked, feeling a chill run down his spine. //I would refuse to fight, too, under similar circumstances! It's this crazy one who should be terminated!//  
  
"They have a list of subjects marked for. . . termination. Too dangerous to keep handling, and completely uncontrollable," Dr. J explained quietly, eyeing that waiting open door with an expression akin to sadness or dismay. "Six is. . . pressing his chances. But then, I don't think he cares anymore."  
  
The mushroom-haired doctor snorted again, and reached for a toggle. "Six never likes to be forced into anything--it's against his breeding, both natural and /our/ additions, after all. Turning off the lights should be enough to lure him out, though."  
  
The room under observation abruptly became pitch-dark, making Treize gasp. "How can you watch anything, then?" //I don't understand. . . //  
  
"The screens." Dr. J gestured with his claw at one of the monitors, which showed the red glow of infrared light marking Twelve.  
  
Before Treize could open his mouth again, a second form blurred onto the monitor, slipping into the testing room but keeping to the far-back wall. A very slim form, that, they could see that much when it paused--younger than Twelve and shorter, of lower weight and perhaps strength. Warm colors trailed to mid-shoulders behind its back, indicating longer hair than one expected on anyone male. Carefully, Six kept close to the wall, wary. . .  
  
//He knows this is a fight. Can they see each other? I don't think so. . . Yet, somehow, they can sense each other.// Treize frowned slightly, unable to imagine how that was possible, yet in the way the two continued to face each other in the dark made it clear that they could sense each other's general position.  
  
"He's little more than a boy," Treize murmured in surprise, taking note of Six's appearance with some horror. //But--how can they do this?!? They must have started working on him--since he was a child!//  
  
"A bit more, yes," the nasty doctor chuckled. "He had to grow up quickly. They /all/ grew after the genetic treatment was administered, with the changing gene."  
  
Dr. J growled, "Most grew into insanity, though. It should never have been added to normal people. The genetic alterations should have been done on the donated material before their birth, as I said before--/they/ aren't like this wild bunch. It's the drastic changes that drive them mad, you know."  
  
"Speaking of changes. . . " The little doctor looked pointedly at the infrared screen. "They'll have to, soon."  
  
Six had stopped circling the other in the room, and paused.  
  
//What is he waiting for? What is he doing? The other's not going to wait- -he's crouching lower right now! He's going to leap!// Treize's eyes widened in horror as the younger subject straightened.  
  
"I don't want to fight you," a quiet voice whispered through the speakers, from the test room. "They can't make us fight if we don't want to."  
  
Dr. J sighed. "He won't listen to you, Six--he's too far gone," he murmured at the unhearing figure on the screen.  
  
A roar was the only reply to the younger man's attempt to parley--and Twelve leapt at him, hands out as of to rend, and something did indeed tear- -  
  
But that powerful form seemed to twist and blur, the shape increasingly wrong as it flew through the air at its target. A target that wasn't there. Six had leapt sideways, landing in a crouch facing his opponent a safe distance out of reach. Only he was no longer facing a man.  
  
Something else prowled on all fours, whirling towards Six in a slavering fury. Something with a long furry tail, and flashing claws. It leapt again--  
  
This time, what dodged was another large feline-seeming creature, only with a bushier tail, backing away and shaking itself free of ragged cloth with a warning growl that the first seemed not to heed.  
  
"W-what. . . /are/ they?" Treize gasped, struggling to believe his eyes. //They can't be. . . That's only myth! No such thing as werewolves!//  
  
"Yes, your eyes /are/ seeing big cats, Lieutenant Kushrenada. They can control the change," the nasty doctor chuckled. "It's /we/ who can't control /them/."  
  
"The genetic changes allow them to alter themselves into a second pattern, or shape," Dr. J explained, not glancing at the soldier. "Only into the shape programmed into them, of course. It's a painful process, but as you can see, they can learn to undergo it swiftly with practice."  
  
"This is wrong," Treize breathed, staring at the screen. //This should never have been tried. Whoever began this was wrong. Making men into beasts--in more ways than physically--it's foolish, insane. This has to be stopped.// "People don't even do this to animals, let alone. . . men. . . "  
  
The two felines were at it in earnest now, taloned paws flashing at each other in a blinding blur of blows. It was impossible to see who was winning, though the brighter colors of hot blood marked both in sharp streaks. Six, leaner and smaller, abruptly retreated, streaking for the far side of the room. After a moment's hesitation, Twelve charged after-- only to run full-tilt into an attack so fast that the watchers never saw the blow, only the hot gush of blood following it.  
  
//He's fast! But if Twelve manages to pin him, he's doomed. . . // Treize marveled.  
  
"It /is/ wrong," Dr. J admitted quietly, watching the screens. "And it's why we want to let you shut us down. It will mean their lives," The claw clicked at the combatants on the screen, "but it means no others will follow them, and they can finally have mercy. . . "  
  
//Mercy. Death /would/ be a mercy, for those so mad. There is no cure for the kind of madness that "Twelve" has. And maybe the others are tired enough of having to kill that they would be glad of it, too.// A twinge of sadness pulled at Treize's heart. Both cats were extraordinary to watch, sheer perfection in combat against each other. But the wrongness of this treatment of those two creatures overwhelmed his admiration.  
  
"I'll tell the General that this must be closed down," Lieutenant Kushrenada stated firmly, accepting what these doctors wished of him. "I just ask. . . Please, make their ends humane."  
  
Six had somehow managed to leap upon the older cat's back, digging claws in to hang on securely as Twelve tried to roll and buck and twist him off. Jaws clamped on an ear firmly, the two glaring into the corners of each other's eyes as they rolled across the floor, the younger one ignoring how that heavier weight made his bones creak audibly, how twelve tried to crush him into the hard floor. Then, abruptly, Six shoved off Twelve as hard as he could with all four legs--  
  
The ear still trapped between strong jaws.  
  
Twelve's neck snapped with an audible crack, and the larger cat collapsed limply, twitching.  
  
Six backed away slowly, first on all fours, then as a man again, limping slightly as he stared at the dying cat still on the floor. Hot streaks of bloody wounds marked his sides and shoulders, a rather bright one marking his lame leg at the calf. But he didn't seem to care about the pain so much as cleaning his mouth--Six spat to the side and wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, as if he'd tasted something foul. . . Or hated what he had done. But the eyes locked on that still form were wide, horrified or disgusted.  
  
Six had seen the madness in Twelve's eyes. He had given the man mercy, much as he didn't like killing.  
  
Those wide eyes turned towards the monitor in a sharp glare. "I hope you're satisfied," that quiet voice growled, dripping with bitterness and disgust, self-mocking and hateful. Then he was limping back towards "his" door. . .  
  
Treize dipped his head in shame for his fellow man--and his kin in Romefeller--who were responsible for this. //It is appropriate that we are reproached for this. . . This project should never have been begun.// "I wish to find General Catalonia right now," he stated, raising his head again. //If /he/ can face this kind of horror with his head still high and that much humanity intact, the least I can do is end this for him.// "The sooner we end this, the better."  
  
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Dr. J eyed Dr. G with a slight smile as he packed their notes into satchels in the lab, not waiting for word about the closing of Project Circe. "It would be /very/ amusing if we let the whole lot loose on Oz when we leave. Justice, I think one of our little ones would say."  
  
Dr. G grunted, and called up a set of secured files on the computer, triggering a certain hidden file among them. "I still say that we do just that," the mushroom-haired man sneered.  
  
A man with a brace over his nose walked into the lab, and smiled slowly. "You two seem confident that they'll shut this down," he stated cheerfully.  
  
Dr. J nodded firmly to himself. "Catalonia's nephew isn't as cold-hearted as some of his kin. And the General himself can't accept anything so inhumane, O. They will do what's right. . . " He paused, glancing over at a certain set of switches set in the wall uncertainly, torn. . .  
  
Dr. O followed his friend's gaze to the cell locking controls, and shook his head slightly. "You know that one would never be able to blend into society. He couldn't as a human--he never will as a feline." Gently, he tried reasoning against it.  
  
Dr. G jerked his head up to glance at Dr. J and the object in question, sucking his teeth as he realized what Dr. J wanted to do. "They'll hunt him down. Not worth his suffering--let him die. He wanted to when this began."  
  
Dr. J didn't so much as shift a muscle--he certainly couldn't blink with those implanted eye-lenses. He was remembering a six-year-old boy staring back at him in defiance and despair, head high and stubborn.  
  
A dark hand reached out and flicked three switches, opening three rooms.  
  
Dr. J smiled slowly at the one responsible. "You think so, too," he stated slyly.  
  
The large darker-skinned doctor smiled back gently, ignoring Dr. G's glare and sniff. "I think he will manage. . . and perhaps do more than you imagine possible, G. Six is not beaten yet. But it's harder to hunt more than one-trails will cross and tangle. This way, he has a chance."  
  
"Hmph," Dr. G snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't think you guys consider what if he /fails/? And if one of those less-than-sane two you loosed with him /does/ get out into society?"  
  
Dr. O made a face at the numbers of the opened cells. "Would you rather the Alliance took them into custody? Those two are the ones we /could/ find means to control. Better society molds them than the Alliance!"  
  
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The alarms went off shrilly just as general Catalonia's black limo turned the corner from the long paved road to the highway, aiming for the family estate just outside the city of Brussels. Treize jerked at the sound, glancing sharply out the window at the darkening evening, the shadowy landscape dappled with the shadows from the canopy of forest that began out here, just beyond the barb-wire topped fence surrounding the bare landscape of the ex-prison.  
  
A pale blur streaking for the forest caught his eye, making him squint uncertainly. In the dimming light, it was hard to make out. . . but it /could/ be a large lean feline. A darker one was easier to spot, heading in the opposite end of the fence, and--was that a tawny one following the road, only from the small cover of the drainage ditches, trailing in their wake?  
  
Treize smiled, and said nothing.  
  
//I wish you well. If you can accept freedom again, and refrain from continuing the horrors demanded of you here, I wish you a good long life, full of joy finally. It's less than you deserve, after what you have endured.//  
  
The car rolled on in silence. If General Catalonia had noticed Treize's surprised start, he withheld his curiosity. . . Perhaps he could guess what was happening, and like his nephew, wished those unfortunates Godspeed.  
  
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To be continued. . .  
  
Note: cats can't see color, only shades of grey. Few animals /can/ see color.  
  
"Some things were perfectly clear, seen with the vision of youth  
  
No doubts and nothing to fear, I claimed the corner on truth  
  
These days it's harder to say I know what I'm fighting for  
  
My faith is falling away  
  
I'm not that sure anymore. . . " 


	2. Seen With The Vision Of Youth

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
Chapter 2-Seen With The Vision Of Youth  
  
**Paths cross, collide, and entangle more than Treize when he tries hunting on his uncle's estate and comes across someone else's prey. . . Hasty decisions are forced on many, forming bonds more important than they realize. Did you ever note how when Treize shoots that bird, he only knocks off a few feathers, and the bird itself doesn't fall. . . ?**  
  
Two days later. . .  
  
Slapping his annoying alarm clock, Treize Kushrenada hauled himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes, and began hunting out his bird-hunting clothes and favorite rifle. //A brace of partridges would be nice this morning. . . Or pheasant. That would make for a good supper. . . //  
  
Neatly fastening his tri-colored old combat jacket with deft fingers, he paused to smile into the mirror in irony at his reflection.  
  
"Treize Kushrenada in old fatigues. . . Nobody would believe it but Uncle Catalonia!" he chuckled, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to push those last two tendrils of hair back from his forehead. "But I hate waste, and I barely use them otherwise. Besides, why change tactics simply because the prey is different? Men or birds, both can be sharp-sighted."  
  
Shaking his head, he swung his rifle over his shoulder by the strap, shoved a few spare cartridges into the jacket pocket, and left his elegant room for the estate's fringes.  
  
Striding down the main staircase, his boots clopping on the marble steps, he could faintly hear the clinking of servants in the kitchen and dining room setting up for breakfast, and detoured to pass through the latter. Before anyone could say a word, he snatched up a couple rolls from a steaming breadbasket set on the buffet table only a mere instant before his entrance--and quickened his pace for the opposite door, which would let him into the garden and from there, the forest.  
  
//Breakfast to go. . . //  
  
"Master Treize!" admonished General Catalonia's butler sternly--though the man couldn't help an amused and helpless smile at the young Lieutenant's back.  
  
"I'm off before the birds fully get their senses together, Jensen!" the young man laughed over his shoulder, not pausing.  
  
His laughter trailed behind him out the garden doors, leaving the old servant to shake his head and chuckle.  
  
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//I'm /sure/ I winged that pheasant,// Treize assured himself firmly, stomping along the river path angrily. //It can't have gone far. . . Oh hell, Treize, just admit you just hit tail feathers! It doesn't look like the damn bird's anywhere near here, for all it seemed to fly this way.//  
  
Cursing under his breath, the young soldier stomped all the harder, ignoring the fact that his heavy steps would scare the bird off well before he found it, even if it /were/ around to be found. But he stepped too hard once too often--and suddenly the bank crumbled beneath his weight, dropping the young man through the tall weedy boarder of the path and into the edge of the silty river.  
  
A yelp, and the highborn young man found himself sitting on his rump on the gravelly--but luckily shallow--edge of the river, dirty water swirling around his knees and soaking him to the ribs.  
  
"Damn it!" he cursed, half-growling and half-bellowing his frustration out at the forest and river around him. //At least it didn't /fill/ the rifle, but now I have to clean it when I get back. And I /hate/ cleaning mud out of my guns! And my clothes. . . Oh, this is going to be /so/ undignified. . . limping in half wet and muddy like this with nothing to show for my efforts out here. Dorothy will laugh her head off!//  
  
Angrily, the young man flung himself to his feet and shook water off his rifle--a vain attempt to dry at least that beloved object. Muttering under his breath about making pheasants enter the Endangered Species listing soon, he turned back towards the overgrown bank, and put his hands on his hips, glaring at it.  
  
It was steep, to keep the path dry during minor floods, but eroding badly, and not just where it had dumped him but to the left and right, it did not look safe enough to risk climbing back up. //I'd just end up even /more/ soaked and filthy, then--/if/ I don't lose the gun entirely the next time. Better find a better place to climb up.//  
  
With a sigh, Treize began sloshing along in the shallows parallel to the bank, thankful he thought to wear his high uniform boots for all that they were already full of muddy water, following the river up-stream. "Somewhere near here must be a sandbar, or inlet, where the bank's not so bad. . . ," he murmured out loud, letting the sound of his own voice hearten him.  
  
Ah, ahead he could see a fallen tree trapped against the bank, and quickened his pace eagerly at the hope of the thick trunk boosting him back to dry land. Lifting one heavy waterlogged boot, he set that foot firmly on the trunk, and reached up to stabilize himself with a half-rotten root, when something caught his eye, making him glance down at the upriver side of the tangled flotsam.  
  
Something pale, unnatural in this setting, gleaming weakly in the early light, too big to be a dead fish.  
  
Bending, Treize peered closer, and almost fell backwards in surprise, eyes widening.  
  
Mud soiled the fair gleaming, but couldn't conceal it--pale hair so fair it must have been white when clean, pale skin beneath and beside it. . .  
  
//A person--is he dead?//  
  
A tentative hand reached out to brush mud-plastered long hair away from the face, curious. This wouldn't be the first dead man Treize had ever seen, but he could see enough to feel that the loss of this handsome creature would be an unspoken tragedy for this world.  
  
Matted hair aside--so soft--he could see the face, young, fine-featured, relaxed, yet set in a vaguely sad--or despairing--expression. Skin was cool, clammy from the river's soaking, but not the cold of death. And--was that the brush of a faint breath tickling his hand?  
  
//He's alive?// Tossing his rifle up onto the dry path above, Treize vaulted over the fallen tree, soggy clothes and water-filled boots forgotten as he fought through the flotsam and water to reach the limp figure's side.  
  
The young man was half-sprawled over a branch of the fallen tree, head and shoulders held above the water by it, the rest of his body hidden by the murky water, which was a bit deeper on this side of the massive trunk. He might have been fighting the river's current and fetched up against the tree in a high flood--if so, it seemed he'd run out of strength beyond levering his upper body onto safety. Ragged-edged long hair tickled his shoulders, the tips tugged playfully by the water still, so it didn't conceal the sharp jutting of his spine and all-too-visible ribs. . . nor the marks of water-soaked recent slashes and older scars on his hide. Those prominent ribs were moving faintly, shallow breaths, the quiet ones of someone unconscious.  
  
Treize's eyes softened, and he jerked branches free of their grip with the old tree, tossing them out of the way--ironically back into the river's powerful current to go tangle up somewhere less annoying. But it cleared the pale young man's body enough that the Lieutenant could reach under those weakly-holding arms and lift that unresisting body.  
  
//He's amazingly light--but then, he doesn't look like he's been eating well lately. He's all skin and bones!// Shifting his grip, Treize set one arm about the stranger's shoulders, to free a hand to scoop up those long legs.  
  
//He's not yet my own height. . . But then, I think he's a bit younger than me. What a mess. . . ! The river wasn't easy on him, whoever he is-- and he's not wearing a stitch! Heavens, Uncle Catalonia would probably have a fit if my clothes didn't corroborate with my story.//  
  
Shifting that light form in his arms, Treize carefully began picking his way up the pile of flotsam and the fallen tree towards the top of the bank again, choosing his steps with care. This was no place to fall--it would be too easy to crack his head on one of those thick beams of wood and drown /both/ of them, like this young fellow nearly had!  
  
That pale head lolled against Treize's chest, and he felt the limp form jerk with a couple faint coughs. He glanced down at that fair face, and smiled wryly. //Swallowed half the river, did you? I'm not surprised. How on Earth did you ever end up like this? Now /that/ might surprise me.//  
  
Either the tree or the river weren't willing to give up the stranger without some form of retaliation, because a root caught Treize's foot at the top, and dumped both him and his dripping burden unceremoniously onto the grassy river path. Sprawled on his side, the stranger began coughing again, oblivious to poor Treize half-crouched over him and griping over skinned palms that were the price of avoiding falling on him.  
  
//I'd better get the worst of that water out of him, first.// Struggling back to his feet, he pulled that unresisting light body fully onto the flat path.  
  
//Arms over head, face-down, knees under hips to help the water reach his mouth. . . //  
  
Treize froze amid positioning the young man to drain the fellow's lungs, staring, one hand on a bony knee he was about to tuck under the younger man's body.  
  
Massive claw marks, one so deep it had been sutured together only days ago, in the calf of the young man's leg.  
  
A familiar pattern of claw marks, with equally familiar ones nearly hidden by the long hair about the young man's shoulders.  
  
//It's him. . . // The young Lieutenant had to sit down before his knees gave way, and plopped onto the grass beside his foundling. //Six--from Project Circe. . . Circe, the Greek sorceress who changed men into beasts and who Odysseus had to force to change back into men. . . Am I saving man or beast here? He must have been one of the three we saw escape.//  
  
Again, a faint cough. Hands crooked into feeble claws to grip the grass, and shoulders tensed, a weak, unconscious effort that failed utterly. Struggling to live. Survival instincts demanded that he wouldn't surrender to the dark without a fight.  
  
Reaching a hand to brush hair from that fair face again, Treize frowned slightly. //Hell, he's maybe, /maybe/ fifteen at the most! He didn't want to kill /then/--I doubt he'll want to now. Perhaps, as the tale goes, I can make him human again? Or at least help him keep his humanity?//  
  
Shaking his head and sighing, Treize knelt beside Six and, wrapping an arm about that thin waist, finished tucking the fellow's legs under his body before starting to thump prominent ribs with the flat of his hand. . . and firmly keeping his gaze on a flutter of hair that swayed with every cough that followed.  
  
//Admit it, Treize,// he admonished himself sternly, //you think he's handsome and want to keep him, now that he's managed to follow you home.//  
  
Those coughs deepened, shaking the whole body in his arms as Six began retching up river-water.  
  
//I want more than just to keep him,// Treize chuckled to himself, acutely aware of that bare, damp figure he was bracing against his hip against the vibrations of those increasingly violent coughs. //Think mud, Treize-- river-mud in your poor rifle and this man's lungs. Ick, no wonder it makes people sick after they half-drown! It's bad enough trying to get it out of the bullet chambers. . . //  
  
At last, the worst of the water was out, and those coughs swiftly faded into deep breaths, refilling half-swamped lungs with life again.  
  
Loosening his hold about Six's waist, Treize sat back on his heels, mind whirling. //Now what do I do with him? Surely there's a hunt up. . . //  
  
An arm moved, slowly dragging along the grass, stopping now and then as if that much was severely taxing the owner's strength and he needed to rest. It halted with hand flat on the grass by his mouth. The other elbow bent a bit, and shoulders tightened, shook. . . failed.  
  
//Is he. . . is he waking?// Treize wondered, glancing about for his rifle worriedly. //Yes, I saved you, but only God knows how sane you are when it comes to a witness to your escape!//  
  
That pale head turned, and Six glanced at him through matted bangs with one icy blue eye.  
  
Treize couldn't escape that gaze, pinned, captivated. //They're slitted, like a cat's. . . But I've never seen a cat with eyes such a light blue!// He couldn't breathe. //Lovely eyes. . . //  
  
That visible eye narrowed, and a faint, deep gravelly growl echoed the defiance gleaming in its depths.  
  
Reaching a hand in a peaceful gesture, Treize shook his head in answer to that sound, that defiance. "I'm not an enemy," he offered quietly, hoping against hope to turn that anger away from himself. "I'm a friend. . . " //I'd love to be more, but I don't care to be ripped into ribbons by six- inch claws like yours, friend. Being a friend may be daring enough for now.//  
  
The growl faded, but that eye remained warily on Treize for a moment, before the young man turned back to trying to lever his shoulders off the ground. With little luck still--Six's body shook from his efforts, but he couldn't get more than an inch off the flattened grass. He collapsed limply with a frustrated, exhausted puff of a sigh.  
  
//He needs help, and badly. . . But if he changes and turns on me when I try to help him, I'll lose a hand before he can stop!// Treize decided sadly, feeling a sympathy for this independent, determined spirit. "You're in no shape to go anywhere. . . Let me help you," he pointed out in a vague warning, as he reached out a hand.  
  
There was no hiding the tension that appeared under his touch--muscles tightened, tensed, even if they didn't have the strength to do anything about it.  
  
//Afraid of me? Wary? How /did/ they discipline them in that place? How did they try to control what they made? I don't see any marks, but there are ways to hurt that don't leave any. . . //  
  
Pushing a damp shoulder over, he half-rolled the younger man onto his back, then slid an arm about those tensed shoulders to lever Six into a half- sitting, half-sidelying position. Treize had to bite his lip at the weight of that body against his chest, the wisps of pale hair that dared to tickle his nose, the warm breath against his throat. //Mud, Treize, mud! Just focus on the reek of the river that's on you both. . . // he reminded himself firmly.  
  
But Six didn't have the strength to hold that position, and didn't even bother something as beyond his abilities as escaping Treize's support. Tired muscles relaxed, unable to hold their tension, and he simply leaned against Treize's chest weakly, focused on breathing again. . . After a moment's rest, though, his head turned, lifted, to face his rescuer fully.  
  
Treize stared into those icy blue eyes so uncomfortably close to his own, his own breath stilling at the uncertainty and weary pain he could read in those depths. //He's. . . lovely. . . God, how could they try their inhumane games on someone like this?!? How could anyone hurt someone like this? May as well abuse an angel. . . //  
  
That uncertainty faded, the longer those cat-eyes stared into his own, slowly replaced by something akin to bewilderment, with a flicker of curiosity hidden in it, perhaps.  
  
"Th-thank you." Six's voice was still soft, quiet, low, but roughened by the river's treatment.  
  
Treize had to swallow twice before he could respond with his own gentle, "You're welcome."  
  
Those spellbinding cat eyes closed slowly again, their owner relaxing against Treize as if just supporting his own head to maintain that gaze was becoming too much for him.  
  
"Just relax," Treize added, uncertain the other was still awake to hear him. "I'll take care of the rest. . . " //The river took a heavy toll on him. . . I won't be surprised if you've just fainted on me, friend. . . //  
  
As if taking him on his word, those deep breaths sank into the steady pattern of one lost to consciousness again.  
  
Treize smiled slowly, gently, at that relaxed face so alluringly near his own. //I take it you trust me, then?// he chuckled to himself, carefully slipping a hand under those bony knees again to scoop the younger man in his arms again. //Well, better get you inside and doctored up--as best as the servants and myself can manage. . . I don't think we dare call in a professional. And what would we call? Doctor or vet?//  
  
Carefully getting to his feet so as not to jar--and possibly wake--his charge, Treize turned back along the path towards his uncle's manor house, musing grimly, //I wonder what Uncle Catalonia will say. . . //  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Voices around him, over him. . .  
  
//No--no more, please, I can't stand people any more! Just let me go, let me go somewhere people never go, and be the animal you made me into. . . Better an animal then a man. . . // he begged silently, knowing that to voice such things would lead to nothing more than self-humiliation.  
  
They wouldn't listen. They never had.  
  
Pride--did he even have that little left to him? Probably not. The illusion of it, perhaps. //I don't know what matters anymore. . . just keeping my secret safe. They will never know Relena lives. . . In that much I still win, you bastards! You may have destroyed me, but you failed, you failed. . . //  
  
//I failed. . . Look at what I am now. . . A monster. A beast. A killer.// The old ache of that acknowledgement made his chest hurt, and brought on a weak cough.  
  
His throat hurt, he realized. Despite all the river-water he'd swallowed, it was rough and dry and aching. Or perhaps /because/ of the muddy water.  
  
He cracked open heavy eyelids, blinking slowly to focus. . .  
  
On tapestry-covered walls of stone, and drawn drapes of someone's sitting room. The back of a soft couch supported his left side, with presumably a pillow propped under his head against the arm of the couch, and his legs rested across the length of the soft sitting pillows. Light was struggling to filter through the heavy drapes, but kept the room comfortably cool, if moderately illuminated.  
  
//I. . . don't understand. . . Who. . . ? Why. . . ?// Pale brows furrowed slightly--then memory supplied a hazy glimpse of a face: bright eyes, fairly light hair, a handsome but worried aristocratic face, young yet sadly haunted by the knowledge of too many secrets and the responsibilities brought with power. //Him. . . the one who knocked the water out of me. . . Why?//  
  
He shifted a little, feeling plush blankets slide slightly on bare skin, turning his head a bit to see. . .  
  
Yes, the young man was there, only now dressed in a dark-colored military jacket, turning from speaking to an older man in a similar uniform, though the latter bore a greater number of adornments. Higher rank, perhaps.  
  
//Military. . . /Alliance/!// He could feel his own lips draw back slightly from his teeth, feel more than hear his own hiss, stirred on by a pang of betrayal. //They saved me--for what? I won't do it! I'd rather die!//  
  
His reaction seemed to pain the younger man, who dared to draw closer, more fully into his range of vision. Keen ears could hear the older man walking out and close the door behind himself.  
  
"Is something wrong? You're hurt somewhere?" the young soldier asked, worry creasing his noble brow.  
  
//If only I had the strength to get up! I would show you just how good a killer you made of me, then! I'd leave you all in ribbons too small for the vultures to find!// He glared back, silent, defiant, angry. He didn't understand why he felt betrayed, but it burned, fueled his anger.  
  
The young soldier stopped, sharp eyes trying to read something from his own, studying him a moment. There was some kind of sympathy in his gaze, something suggesting that he wanted. wanted. . . to help? "Tell me," he suggested softly, not pleading but insistent, trying to understand.  
  
//So be it!// "Alliance!" he snarled back accusingly.  
  
The young man blinked back at him, then looked down at his uniform, and smiled slyly, shaking his head negatively. "No. . . Oz Specials." He made a small bow, graceful and neat, adding in the way of introduction, "First Lieutenant Treize Kushrenada, at your service."  
  
//Oz. . . ?// Anger died at that, and a single eyebrow arched slightly, echoing the confusion he felt replace it. "Why. . . ?" he asked slowly, after a moment.  
  
Heat filled Treize's bright eyes--anger. "Because the Alliance is wrong. Because Romefeller's 'little' projects, such as yours, are wrong. General Catalonia--my uncle, who was just here--brought me along when we shut down the project you were part of. Why should you die with it?"  
  
//Good question. . . but I ask, why should I /not/ die with it? What kind of life remains for me? A beast in the woods? Some kind of twisted pet somewhere? Yes, try fitting someone who can become a large cat into society--I was caught because I was too easy to spot /before/ this was done to me! Or funnier yet--get crowned King of Sanc finally! Wouldn't /that/ be something? "Your Majesty, would you care for a sniff of catnip?"// Closing his eyes, he sighed softly. //I'm considered dead to the world. What can a dead, half-human thing do?//  
  
"You want me to help you," he told Treize disgustedly. //One military is as bad as the other. . . Just put me to sleep and get it done with.//  
  
Treize jerked back as if slapped, stiffening, then answered coldly, "I did not say that."  
  
Frowning slightly, he opened his eyes again to consider Treize yet again, strangely fascinated by the young soldier. "Then what?" he asked, curious.  
  
The young Lieutenant shook his head firmly. "You don't have to help us at all. We can manage fine enough, to be honest. . . " Those bright eyes again, watching him intently. . . "What is your name?"  
  
//What. . . ?// After his first day under the care of the scientists, nobody had ever asked him such a question. He may as well have been a mere animal even then, even before they began the experimental treatments. //My. . . name?// It had been so long. . . How long? Did /he/ remember it? It had been buried so long. . . but he could find it again in the depths of memories that he had avoided in his despair. //Mill. . . //  
  
"I can hardly keep calling you 'Six'. It's inhumane," Treize protested with a slight smile, joking gently at his hesitation.  
  
Daringly, he looked directly into Treize's eyes, and spoke a name that he had given only to one of the scientists, and that so long ago it was rusty on his lips.  
  
"Milliardo Peacecraft. . . "  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Treize guessed that his own eyes must have been the size of saucers at that revelation. //Of all. . . ! How /could/ they, to make a fighter out of the exact opposite?!? It's--it's--it's only sheer malice that could have made them try that!// The urge to crush the throat of the project's head was so strong that the young soldier earnestly wished the man was in the same room at that moment. //Malicious. . . monsters!//  
  
"That /would/ be rather difficult to become again," he admitted wryly, sitting on an ornate chair by the couch.  
  
Milliardo simply licked his lips and swallowed with a faint grimace, returning nothing, those icy blue eyes resigned and tired.  
  
Treize blinked, then mentally kicked himself. //Water. He's thirsty.// Getting up, he quickly stepped to the end table beside the sofa, pouring a glassful and holding it to his patient's lips carefully. "Here. You should have said something. . . "  
  
The younger man glanced up at him, but remained quiet, sipping carefully instead.  
  
//What did you expect--him to lap it up with his tongue? Get reasonable, Treize. /You/ have to believe in his humanity before you can convince others of it!// When those eyes looked back up at him expectantly, he withdrew the glass, setting it beside the pitcher before resuming his seat.  
  
"I've been Six too long," Milliardo whispered softly, almost to himself. "I can't. . . see myself as a Peacecraft anymore. . . I barely recognize my own name."  
  
//How long was he part of this thing? It must have been a long time.// "How old were you when they made you part of the project?" he asked gently.  
  
"Six, ironically enough," Milliardo answered with a dry laugh. "Three months. . . I'm surprised it took them that long to find me, after. . . " He trailed, leaving the rest unspoken, eyes darkening at the memories.  
  
Treize made a face, tallying years silently in his head, thoughtful. //From one hell into the next. . . That makes him fifteen all right.// "Nine years," he murmured quietly. //Nine years of captivity.//  
  
A slow nod, and those pained cat-eyes closed. "I can't be a Peacecraft," he repeated hopelessly, "and I don't know what else to be. . . other than. . . Six."  
  
//There has to be /something/ more elegant than just "Six". Hell, I wouldn't name a dog that!// Mouth quirking wryly, Treize murmured, "Zechs. . . Even in a foreign language, it sounds better than just 'Six'!"  
  
Blue eyes snapped open, and gazed at him impassively. A faint shrug shifted the covers a bit. "It doesn't matter. . . " To him, it made no difference.  
  
Sighing, Treize stood, reaching out to brush feathery bangs from those eyes gently. "How's 'Zechs', at least until we can come up with something better?" //Or, rather, me. He doesn't seem to care if I called him 'Spot'.//  
  
"Good enough." Those eyes stared past him, lost in their own thoughts.  
  
"My uncle told me that you are welcome to stay as long as you want, Zechs. We can't undo what they did to you--but what help we can give you is yours for the asking," Treize offered softly. //You don't know what that means, coming from Uncle Catalonia. He doesn't offer that to just anyone.//  
  
"You said. . . Oz is to destroy the Alliance and all things similar. . . ?" Zechs asked, words hesitant and slow, as if he was trying to piece together the concept carefully.  
  
Treize blinked, head tilting to one side as he looked down at those cat- eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind them, concerned. "Yes. . . "  
  
Zechs's eyes rose to meet his own, something strangely protective in their depths. "You helped me. . . Let me help you," he stated firmly.  
  
A warmth spread from Treize's chest outward slowly at those words and that fierce gaze. //Perhaps you're hoping against hope, Treize. . . reading too much into those. . . lovely. . . eyes. . . Bad boy--back to mud- meditations for you! Heavens, Treize, you need to go find a date and work on these frustrations already before you start humping trees. . . ! Now leave the poor boy alone!//  
  
"Only in as far as you're willing to help. . . I will never force you into anything, Zechs."  
  
And he meant it with all his heart.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Everyone alright? Everyone made it to their colony again?"  
  
A chorus of murmurs answered that carefully-coded question spanning space between the colonies--a forbidden communication that tickled the stars and bounced around the moon playfully.  
  
"We're one voice short," someone observed.  
  
"He got caught."  
  
"Damn. . . " Other sounds of dismay echoed the mild curse.  
  
"Well, how are everyone's charges. . . ? Still in the safe homes we bargained with nine years ago?"  
  
Nine years ago. . . A compromise between people who wanted someone to love, and some who wanted to make youngsters with enough of an edge to rescue humanity.  
  
Again, a chorus of assent, except. . .  
  
"Mine's gone--his family died. Alliance bastards got them when rebels took refuge there. . . "  
  
"02?"  
  
"Not a trace of him, though he's alive. They caught him, but didn't suspect anything--let him go after."  
  
"It's okay, then. A shame, but they're resourceful. . . "  
  
"What about the charge of our lost colleague?"  
  
"I checked--he's safe and sound. Let them stay where they are, for now."  
  
"How will we get them back when we need them. . . ?"  
  
Laughter.  
  
"They'll find /us/!"  
  
"Yeah, who else brings catnip to the colonies? There are no housecats up here, you know!"  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
To be continued. 


	3. No Doubts And Nothing To Fear

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
Chapter 3-No Doubts And Nothing To Fear  
  
**His Excellency is dead--assassinated. Long live His Excellency. The first appearance of His Excellency's Silver. Treize and Zechs grow closer. Oh, the other two cats' fates? That's part of the plot--you must wait.**  
  
AC 192-a year later. . .  
  
Treize smiled slowly as a familiar young man strode through the main doors into the manor's entrance-hall and set his single canvas bag by his feet, head rising to look about the marble staircase and echoing grey stone covered with warm tapestries and rugs. The room was warmly lit by skylights above, yet the new arrival didn't remove his dark sunglasses. Only gazed about with a faint smile curving his lips. . .  
  
//He's grown taller. He's taller than me now.// Treize shook his head with amused dismay, waiting patiently just between the double oak doors to the library, leaning on his cane. //And handsomer. . . I wish. . . but I can't tell him how I feel. It wouldn't be right. And it could so easily break that trust we've formed.//  
  
A soft sigh. . . A contented sigh, which almost surprised Treize. It was the closest he had ever seen Zechs to. . . happy.  
  
"You shouldn't be standing, you know," Zechs admonished softly, his gaze on the top of the staircase. Turning slowly, he smiled warmly at Treize, as if he had known the man was watching him from there the whole time.  
  
//Which he probably did,// Treize admitted to himself. He didn't put much beyond Zechs's abilities of late. Perhaps the young man didn't suspect the full extent of his own potential, himself. "Welcome home, Zechs," he answered, smile quirking higher at the corner.  
  
"Who's here? Cousin, you are utterly useless--you never tell me /anything/!" a shrill female voice scolded teasingly from above--and a whirlwind of light blonde hair and dark skirt swirled to a halt at the top of the stairs to peer down.  
  
"Hello, Dorothy," Zechs chuckled, not turning from Treize.  
  
"Zechs!" she squealed, thundering down the stairs at an almost deadly pace for a twelve-year-old. "Cousin--you /should/ have told me! I'd have gone after a few partridges--"  
  
//She's /never/ going to let me live down my lack of skill at shooting birds, and his partiality to bird for dinner,// Treize sighed mentally. "I only knew a short while ago myself about the change in his schedule, Dorothy."  
  
Hands on hips, she came to a halt only a few feet away from the pair, and sniffed at Treize haughtily, though her eyes danced merrily with amusement. "You /still/ could have told me!"  
  
"I thought to surprise both of you," Zechs offered, turning to glance at the girl, smile lingering.  
  
Treize shook his head and chuckled. //He's loosened up, for all he's learning to kill in different ways now. Maybe it's that girl, Noin. . . She told me they had become friends, when she visited me in the hospital.//  
  
The sniff shifted from Treize to Zechs, and became a reproofing glare. "No glasses in the house, Zechs. You /know/ I don't like it! And I'm Lady of the house, with Father out, so you'd better listen!"  
  
A single rough laugh, and Zechs reached up, pulling them off, cat-eyes warm as they fell on the young girl only an arm's reach away. "I hope he won't be upset with me returning with so little warning. . . "  
  
She snorted in an unladylike manner. "Oh, pooh--you /know/ he's almost as fond of you as he is of Cousin Treize! He'll be thrilled. Finally, someone he can hunt with who won't come home with only feathers--even if you /insist/ on bringing things back alive!"  
  
"Really, Dorothy, that's low--" Treize protested, leaning harder on his cane. //My leg aches. But it's good to see him home safe. People /do/ die during training.//  
  
Her eyes shifted sharply to his leg, and he knew he'd been caught. "/You/ get back to that chair. Father told me to keep you off that leg, and I /refuse/ to fail him!" Whirling on a softly-chuckling Zechs like a tornado, she added sharply, "And /you/ go make sure he /stays/ in that chair until I get the servants to throw together a room for you!" Hands waved in a firm shooing motion at both young men. "Get moving! Go! Shoo!"  
  
Treize shook his head and smiled slyly at Dorothy. //You suspect how I feel about him, don't you girl? You wouldn't tease me so much about my shortcomings in his presence if you didn't.//  
  
Tucking an earpiece of his sunglasses into the neck of his uniform jacket and chuckling louder, Zechs moved to reach for his bag at his feet.  
  
With a squeal of frustration, Dorothy darted forward and shoved at his lowered shoulder, pushing him towards Treize. "Oh /leave/ that! That's what servants are /for/, silly! Now go help Cousin Treize before the idiot ends up in a heap in the door there--and I can't lift the lummox, only you can!"  
  
Laughing, the pair of young men let Dorothy propel them into the darker library. Dutifully, Zechs escorted Treize to the chair with the ottoman, but Treize firmly waved away any attempts to assist him into getting comfortable there. Setting his aching foot up on the soft resting stool, the young First Lieutenant of Oz returned his scrutiny to the fair-haired young man pulling up a chair opposite him. . . and turning it around to straddle it with arms and chin resting on the back, so he could stare back with mischievous intensity at Treize.  
  
//If only he knew I could drown in eyes like his and not care. . . // He had already been berated--from /all/ sides--during Zechs's last vacation about letting a boy blast his mobile suit with a missile-launcher on L1. //He's teasing me with this, staring. . . I wonder if young Noin has seen his eyes? Probably not.//  
  
Zechs's mouth curved into a slight smile. "You look better than last time I saw you," he stated quietly, eyes amused. "Probably Dorothy's doing--if anyone can make you rest sensibly, she can."  
  
Treize snorted. "She can--and /has/, I might add--cowed the world's most powerful men before this. God help anyone who crosses her. They'll need it." //Put /her/ in charge of Romefeller and the world, and things would be run competently for a change, though. No nonsense.//  
  
"Then why do you keep trying?" Zechs chuckled, gliding smoothly to his feet and moving towards the liquor cabinet. "Mmmm. . . Are you allowed anything, or are you still on medication? You look like you need a drink for your earlier efforts. . . "  
  
//You're more considerate than you credit yourself, Zechs. . . Or else my face is really betraying me.// "I'm allowed now. I wouldn't mind something, to be honest. Try the blue crystal--it has a new brandy I found on L1, some kind of intriguing thing they make there themselves." He tried to crane his head to glance back at Zechs and the liquor cabinet, but failed to glimpse either over the plush back of his own seat, and settled back in the comfortable chair with a sigh.  
  
A half-hiss, half-growling sound rumbled behind him for a moment, making Treize frown. //Is something wrong?// "Zechs. . . ?" he inquired.  
  
Abruptly, two decanters were set firmly--almost angrily--on the table by his arm with an audible thump, a frustrated Zechs towering over both and eyeing them as if they existed merely to annoy him.  
  
One blue.  
  
One burgundy.  
  
Treize blinked. //This isn't the first time he's been upset by deep colors. I don't understand. . . // "Zechs. . . ?" he tried again, looking up into those cat-eyes.  
  
Frustration--and pain. Something really upset the younger man. Not Treize, but something about the two drinks.  
  
"Which one is it?" Zechs half-growled, glaring at the matching crystal decanters.  
  
//Which one? The. . . blue.// Glancing at the two containers, Treize gestured at the blue one with his hand, letting his confusion show in his voice. "The. . . blue. . . Zechs, what's wrong?"  
  
With blinding speed, the younger man returned the other to the cabinet, and set about filling two glasses, not answering.  
  
//He moves faster when upset--it's as if he can't keep still then,// Treize sighed. "Zechs. . . just tell me. This isn't the first time something's upset you like this."  
  
The younger man simply picked up his own glass, and stalked back to his seat, resuming it, staring intently into his glass. His silence, his posture, screamed that he didn't want to share it, that it was something he felt strongly about.  
  
"Zechs," Treize whispered gently, the plea of a close companion trying to understand. //Tell me. Please. I want to help.//  
  
"What if I told you that I can't for the life of me tell you what color uniform I'm wearing even this very moment, Treize?" Zechs asked in a quiet rush, a hint of despair in his voice, threatening to crack it.  
  
//Wh-what?// Treize stared. "But it's. . . "  
  
"Red. Yes, everyone says so. I can't tell." Zechs took a good mouthful of the brandy, testing it a moment, then swallowing. If it was to fortify himself, he still took that brief moment to appreciate it.  
  
"You. . . can't tell? You mean, red from green? Or just red from blue?" Treize tried, struggling to fit the idea of this limitation around his concept of Zechs. //I've heard of people having trouble with those at times--a genetic flaw, it's said.//  
  
"No. I mean /all/ color, Treize." Zechs continued to stare into his glass, voice dropping to a painful whisper. "All I see. . . is grey. I /used/ to see color. . . until they caught me. . . "  
  
//Oh, God. . . Whatever they did to him--he's colorblind. Completely colorblind!// "But--the mobile suit controls, the colored lights, buttons, and monitors--" Treize protested, trying to find evidence to the contrary.  
  
"I memorized the positions of things. The monitors--I can see the differences in shading, and those have to be big or they wouldn't be so visible to you, either."  
  
Treize took a long pull on his own brandy, needing it for more than his leg now. //I. . . never thought. . . He's adapted pretty well for such a complication.// "Your instructors. . . ?"  
  
"Not a clue."  
  
//You kept them completely in the dark. Must have been inconvenient at times-and quick thinking at other times!// "Noin?"  
  
A pause, then, annoyed, "She found out."  
  
"How?"  
  
A snort, and a faint smile, as cat-eyes met his again. "Like you just did. Wrong color container. It was in the cafeteria--lunch. I ended up with the most vile thing on the menu by mistake--she had recommended something better."  
  
Treize chuckled, suppressing a twinge of sadness. //He likes her. There go your dreams, Treize. Too good to be true, I told you. . . // "And ate it all as if that was what you intended, as usual."  
  
Those eyes seemed to read more than he wanted them to, staring so intently into his own. "To show weakness there is dangerous," Zechs answered quietly, finally looking back at his drink.  
  
Both sat in silence for a bit, studying their drinks, lost in their own thoughts.  
  
//He'll never be mine. . . But oh, how I wish he could!// Treize wailed, body held in stiff control to avoid betraying his broken heart, which hurt more than his leg at the moment.  
  
Someone knocked on the library door, startling both heads into jerking upright. "Master Treize," Jensen, the butler, called through the door. "Some gentlemen to see you, Sir. It appears to be urgent."  
  
Wordlessly, Zechs whipped out the glasses again, covering his eyes, despite the room's already low lighting.  
  
//It doesn't matter. His sight's so acute that the added shade doesn't hinder him in the least. even if it's all in black and white.// Glancing at Zechs, Treize received a nod, and looked back expectantly to the door to call, "Let them in, Jensen!"  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --  
  
//I've hurt him. Something. . . I said? Or is he hurting for me? Treize doesn't deserve the pain I cause with my blundering about.// Zechs looked into his half-full glass again, listening to the strangers, visitors, follow the butler into the library.  
  
Heavy feet. The clop of uniform boots. The ring of swaying sabers like the one at his own side. The creak of leather gun holsters on their belts. Soldiers. Zechs could even smell mobile suit exhaust fumes from them still. His eyes narrowed as he focused on individual scents among the visiting party. . . One bore an additional strong scent, something vital. . .  
  
//Big-shots from the Specials. General Catalonia's aide? What is he doing here, if not following the man around?// Zechs's pale head jerked up, and turned towards them sharply, eyes picking them out of the bright background light of the doorway. //He's the one. . . //  
  
He could see Treize frown in concern at his own reaction, before the older man also peered towards the door. "Yes. . . ? To what does a recovering man owe the pleasure of this visit? Ah, Lieutenant Shimmel--what brings you here? Uncle Catalonia will be missing your presence, surely." But Zechs could see from Treize's stiff posture and hear in that light tone that his friend was on guard, wary.  
  
Zechs could feel his hackles rising, hidden by his long hair, his muscles tensing to snatch sword or gun at the slightest hint of aggression from the new arrivals. //He doesn't like this. Something's wrong. But he doesn't know--what /I/ know--it's on Shimmel, and recent! I won't let Treize be hurt. . . //  
  
Lieutenant Shimmel's colleagues huddled back, leaving him to do the talking. Hesitantly, the aide stepped forward towards Treize, bowing nervously before glancing at Zechs. The man didn't want him there.  
  
"Sir. . . Perhaps we should speak in private."  
  
//Like hell I'm leaving Treize alone here with you!// Zechs set his glass down on the table with the decanter, folding his arms across the back of the chair in front of him, hands gripping the ornate wood so tightly that, if he hadn't been wearing gloves, would have visibly turned his knuckles white. //You'll have to haul me out.//  
  
Treize glanced at him, eyes locking on his dark sunglasses, as if trying to read the eyes hidden behind them, then shook his head at Lieutenant Shimmel firmly. "Cadet Zechs is part of the family, Shimmel. You can speak in front of him," he answered sharply.  
  
Zechs blinked in surprise at that admission--though, on second thought, Duke Catalonia, his daughter, and Treize had seemed to adopt him as their own over the past year, enthusiastically merging him into their everyday lives. That Treize--or his uncle--would openly acknowledge the relationship was the next logical step, though just /having/ that kind of relationship--a family--was enough to Zechs. //I've lost my family. . . It's good to have one again. It's true, now that I think about it--I /do/ consider this place, with them. . . home.//  
  
Lieutenant Shimmel sighed softly, but saluted smartly, took a deep breath, and said, "Well, Sir. . . General Catalonia has been assassinated, Sir."  
  
Treize went as white as a sheet, mouth opening slightly, horror in his bright blue eyes.  
  
Zechs dug his fingernails into the ornate wood, smothering a hiss of anger and pain. //He was a good man--a friend! /Family!!!/ How--/who/--dares take family away from me again!// But he dared not speak his demanding questions. It was not his place. . .  
  
It rankled enough that, had he been in his feline form, his tail would have lashed in frustration and rage.  
  
"Who did it? Who ordered it?" Treize asked quietly, visibly taking a hold of himself and rising to his feet urgently. "Where are they?" he added with an increasing growl of anger.  
  
Lieutenant Shimmel backed a pace, shaking his head negatively to all questions. "Sir, we don't know yet. . . We have men investigating. But I came immediately to tell you, Sir. . . as you are now Head of the Specials, Sir."  
  
Picking up his cane, Treize set it at his side so he could lean on it--and turned to the butler. "Jensen. . . Get Dorothy, please. She should know. . . I'd best break the news to her myself," he mused painfully.  
  
"Very good Sir." With that, the butler let himself out.  
  
//She'll be furious,// Zechs decided, gliding to his own feet and turning back to the liquor cabinet for a third glass.  
  
"Zechs. . . ?" Treize asked, not certain what his friend was doing.  
  
"She might be underage, Sir, but I think a sip might do her good after hearing the news," he answered his superior with quiet confidence, ever formal in public, but not shifting his attention from what he was doing. //Let the others think it's to keep her from hysterics. /We/ know better, Treize--it's to keep her from trying to grab the throat of whoever is responsible.//  
  
Treize did not inquire further.  
  
A knock announced Dorothy's arrival even as Zechs set the third full glass on the small table beside his own. The knock was quickly followed by the butler ushering her in. "Miss Dorothy, Sir."  
  
"Cousin, I thought I told you to stay off your feet! A fat lot of good /you/ are as a babysitter, Zechs. . . ," the twelve-year-old scolded sharply, hands on hips as she stalked closer. But then Dorothy recognized other faces present. "Lieutenant Shimmel? Where is Father, then? What's going on?"  
  
//I wish we knew for certain ourselves,// Zechs sighed softly, an impassive statue.  
  
All the soldiers looked expectantly at Treize. The new leader of the Specials closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before turning to Dorothy, sympathy and his own anguish in his eyes. "Dorothy. . . He's been assassinated," he stated quietly, but gently.  
  
Dorothy's eyes grew large, and her hands flew to her mouth to cover a gasp of breath. No other sound emerged--but tears shook her eyes until they slid free, trickling down her cheeks.  
  
Using his cane, Treize stepped closer, and wrapped his arms about the girl. "I'm sorry, Dorothy. . . "  
  
She buried her face into his chest, shaking. "But. . . oh, Father! Who. . . ? Who. . . !" Sobs of pain turned quickly to sobs of rage, demanding that she be told.  
  
The other soldiers shifted uneasily, and Lieutenant Shimmel turned away, breathing harsh. Zechs took the chance of their distraction to unbend his formal pose, slipping up to the pair to rest a hand on Treize's shoulder and give him the glass of brandy for Dorothy, a silent gesture of support.  
  
"We don't know yet," Treize answered softly, offering the girl a sip before setting the glass aside, wrapping his arms back around her, and closing his eyes again. Growling, he added, "But I intend to find out. I'm going to investigate it personally. . . "  
  
//I will help,// Zechs added silently, determined. //I may not show it much, but. . . you all mean a lot to me.//  
  
Lieutenant Shimmel seemed taken by surprise by Treize's decision, however. He may have known General Catalonia, but not the rest of the family--at least, not more than enough to greet during major functions or on the phone. "Sir. . . ? We have good men on it, Sir. They'll find those responsible."  
  
Without letting go of Dorothy, Treize's head jerked up, eyes napping open to fling a glare at the man. "I'll leave in an hour, Shimmel. But I /will/ see to this investigation myself! Damn it, the man's been like a second father to me, and I will not be sitting on the sidelines, waiting for some unknown incompetent to find justice for him!"  
  
"Take the cat," Zechs suggested firmly, voice little more than a whisper. //I'm coming. And I can probably do more than any damn search-dog. . . or guard-dog. They may well be after you, too, Treize! And I won't let them take /you/--never! You, Dorothy. . . Relena. . . You're the only family I have left, and the only family I can guard. Relena--I daren't go near her, even to protect her.//  
  
Treize looked at Zechs blankly, confused. "Cat?"  
  
Dorothy pulled back from Treize's embrace, tear-stained face full of fiery anger and a restlessness that matched her cousin's. "Yes, Cousin--take Silver with you!" she commanded sharply.  
  
//"Silver"?!?// Zechs nearly choked on the name, and eyed the girl sharply from behind his glasses. //Heck, that's almost as bad as "Spot" is for a dog!//  
  
Catching Zechs's gaze, Dorothy could only shrug slightly and try an apologetic smile, though not much of one could get past her grief.  
  
Treize looked from one to the other as if not certain there was some kind of conspiracy going on between the pair of them, undecided.  
  
"He was /my/ father, Cousin!" Dorothy pointed out, establishing her rights. "If you're going to hunt his killers--take Silver with you! I won't have you taken by them as well!"  
  
The corner of Zechs's mouth quirked slightly. //Oh, Dorothy, you and I think very much alike here. . . I won't let anything happen to him! You can rest assured.// "She has a point, Treize," Zechs added wryly.  
  
"The. . . cat. . . Very well, I'll take him with me, Dorothy. If you and Zechs would be so kind as to bring him to me, and tell Jensen to prepare things for our departure in an hour. . . " Trailing, the young General took a step towards the library door as if to start the procession out. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to pack a few vital things. Tell them I'm coming to--where was he assassinated, Shimmel?"  
  
"Corsica Base, Sir." The man saluted smartly. "I'll let them know, Sir."  
  
"Tell them I want everything they have, they found, they know, and as much untouched as possible. With that, I leave you, gentlemen."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -  
  
"'Silver'. . . ?"  
  
"It was the first thing that came to mind, Zechs!"  
  
"It's. . . boring."  
  
"I could have said 'Spot'."  
  
A shudder. "'Silver' is better, thank you."  
  
"Are you sure a leash is a good idea? I won't forgive you if you turn out as useless for Cousin Treize as Father's guards were for him!"  
  
"Unleashed would be a bit too suspicious. . . Chain would be best--it's generally used for large cats--but I'd rather not be choked, thank you. You're sure you have that kind of clasp here somewhere?"  
  
"The dog Father had when I was really little was a well-trained guard dog. He said a leash it couldn't lose when necessary made the poor animal's training utterly redundant."  
  
"Hmmm. . . " More of a grunt than a sound. He didn't approve of dogs, as a rule.  
  
"Oh, stop it. Miti was a good dog."  
  
"'Mighty'?"  
  
"Military Intelligence Trained It. MITI."  
  
A soft chuckle.  
  
"Ah, here it is. I've the rest of the stuff. Ready. . . ?"  
  
A sigh. . . "Yes. Two things while I still can talk, however. . . "  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"One--tell this to Treize: Shimmel's uniform smells of blood."  
  
Surprise. "You can tell? You're sure!"  
  
"Yes. . . And two--be very, very careful, yourself. I rather doubt you're as much a target as Treize, but that doesn't mean you're not one all the same. . . And I would rather not lose the only family I have left."  
  
She snorted. "You needn't worry on that score. I'll be careful--I'm not a fool."  
  
"We know. . . " Amusement in those few words, speaking on Treize's behalf as well. Then, "I won't be back until we find and deal with those responsible. You'll have to make excuses for me."  
  
A laugh. "They won't cross me, Zechs. Now stop fretting and go change. I still have to fit this mess on you, even if it's only for show."  
  
A chuckle. . .  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A few minutes later, Treize was sitting on his bed beside a hastily-filled duffle bag, wiping his sidearm with an oily rag for the last time, just done cleaning it. //Carrying the cleaning rags and oils would be pointless. I'm sure they have some there, and probably someone to even do it for me, though I'd rather do it myself, with my own equipment. . . if only this last time.//  
  
A knock.  
  
"Come in." He tucked the revolver into the leather holster at his side, turning to look at the door, rising carefully to his feet and reaching for his cane.  
  
Dorothy brushed the door open with a rough shove, stalking into the room. . . with something on a chain following behind carefully so as not to knock her down with sheer bulk.  
  
A cat. Zechs had never taken his cat form in daylight, not since his escape from those who had forced that form onto him. Privately, Treize attributed it to the younger man's shame at being a killer, at his unwanted, wild, inhuman side. But now, seeing him.  
  
//My. . . God. . . // It was hard to hold his ground as that large feline paced languidly closer--as long as Zechs had been tall, which was now more than Treize's own height, and seeming twice as graceful. Long fur that fit the human description of "platinum blonde", the tips were just a shade darker in places to accent the animal's "feathering" along long legs, mane, and tail, as well as emphasizing those icy blue eyes, and hinting of dappled markings in the rest of his coat. //He's. . . No, he's not /quite/ a snow leopard, but the similarity is there! He's. . . amazing.//  
  
The large feline sat neatly on the carpet in front of him, head higher than Treize's waist, and watched him expectantly, seemingly oblivious to the chain Dorothy held. Treize's eyes followed the steel links to a strange pincer-clasp nearly hidden in the thick ruff, to the handsome collar of woven silver links.  
  
"So, what do you think, Cousin? He'll pass?" Dorothy asked, stepping up beside Zechs. "Do you think they'll accept the story that 'Silver' here is some kind of pet?"  
  
//Pet?// Treize had to smirk at the very idea. //Hardly. . . Though all we have to convince them of is his tameness towards me. I /think/ we can manage that much, though.// "It'll still take some convincing, I suspect. I think they're expecting a housecat, actually," he chuckled, sitting back down on his bed.  
  
Zechs snorted, eyes narrowing, as if to say that for the publicly dignified Treize, trailing a simple tabby on a string to a murder investigation was ludicrous.  
  
Shaking his head and smiling gently, Treize dared to reach out, and cup that massive head in both hands, looking firmly into those alluring icy eyes, trying to plead with his own into them. //I don't want you risking yourself like this. If someone suspects who--/what/ you are. . . // "Zechs. . . You're sure about this?" Treize asked quietly, almost hoping there would be second thoughts, yet. . . //I want him near, though. I need him.//  
  
Those uncanny cat-eyes bore back into his, determined, then the head nodded slowly but firmly. Yes.  
  
"Cousin. . . ," Dorothy added after a moment.  
  
"Hmmm?" Treize looked up, letting Zechs go. //I can drown in those eyes if I'm not careful. . . //  
  
She was frowning worriedly at them both. "Zechs said. . . while he could still talk. . . to tell you that he smelled blood on Lieutenant Shimmel."  
  
Treize looked back at the cat, who nodded to confirm it. //You've that good a sense of smell even when human? Still. . . that means he was either there when Uncle Catalonia died, or killed him himself.// Thoughtfully, he murmured, "Thank you both for the warning. . . We'll have to be very careful, Zechs."  
  
"Silver," Dorothy corrected firmly. "He's the pet cat now. If you slip up, Cousin. . . " She let the warning hang threateningly--no need to finish it. They knew.  
  
"Silver," Treize accepted, fixing the name in his mind firmly. //I'd better not mess that up!// Again, he stood, using his cane to support his aching leg.  
  
"Here," Dorothy murmured, handing him the end of the chain. "And don't worry for him--the clasp opens if he pulls hard enough, we tested it, and the collar is /real/ silver, easy enough to break if he needs to."  
  
//That's a relief.// Treize sighed, feeling tension leave him at that reassurance. //I wouldn't want him restrained, even willingly.// "Good. I'm sorry you have to bear it at all. . . Silver."  
  
A soft rumble was the only answer he received, as the cat got up, and curled around to stand at his weaker side, powerful shoulders slipping under his hand--and bumping him.  
  
//What's this. . . ?//  
  
Blue cat-eyes lifted to regard him, then a paw tapped his cane, before strong shoulders arched insistently under his hand again.  
  
//Ah, you're offering that I can lean on you if I need to. Thank you, Zechs.// Obediently, Treize tangled his fingers--and the chain in their grip--in that smooth, silky fur. Unbidden, he remembered soft tendrils-- exactly the same, silky, lovely--tickling his skin as he supported the young man--was it only a year ago? //I've wanted to touch you for a long time,// Treize realized. //Thank you. . . for a wish granted, even unknowingly.// "Thank you, Silver," he murmured.  
  
Looking towards the door, Treize sighed, squaring his shoulders. "Well, armed as you've made us, I think your champions are ready to go, Dorothy. Let's move, Silver. Time to hunt."  
  
With that, the new leader of the Specials lifted his cane and began walking, feeling power rippling the muscles under the fur in his hand as the cat kept pace with him--and marveling at the headiness of what it meant.  
  
//Such power. . . ! And. . . the cat. . . is mine. Willingly.//  
  
Glancing at the white fur and the chain in his left hand, Treize smiled, touched. //My Silver.//  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
Treize was hurt when instructing cadets on L1, according to Heero's Episode Zero (Heero shoots at Noin's mobile suit, and Instructor Treize steps between, gets hit. . . ). I'm assuming that's after Relena's Episode Zero (when she and Zechs meet during a training thing between Instructor Treize and him), because General Catalonia's still alive during that. Also, all dukes get addressed "Your Excellency", so I'm assuming both General Catalonia and Treize Kushrenada are already dukes in their own right. ;) 


	4. I Claimed The Corner On Truth

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
Chapter 4-I Claimed The Corner On Truth  
  
**The hunt begins. Meet Lady Une. Zechs and Treize get to know each other a bit better, though Treize ends up learning there are some annoying side- effects to this relationship.**  
  
AC 192 still, mid-evening. . .  
  
Soldiers of Corsica Base eyed Treize with surprise, keeping a safe and respectful distance as he limped down the stairs from his plane with a massive white feline at his side. They didn't seem to know what to make of it. They seemed rather awed--or maybe that was merely Zechs's presence. The feline /was/ rather intimidating. He looked strong enough to nearly carry the man at the end of the chain-link leash.  
  
//It's a heady brew, what Zechs has gifted me with,// Treize mused smugly, observing their reactions through the corners of his eyes. //Something like this. . . in my control. . . No, I don't control this--nobody can. But to guide it, focus it, to even just be able to call on it for aid-- that's an amazing thing!//  
  
Ah, someone was daring to approach them, if warily, at the base of the stairs on the tarmac. Tall, dark-haired, a Germanic face set in a permanent sneer--General Septum.  
  
Even before they reached the man, Treize could feel vibration under his handful of furry ruff. No, Zechs didn't like the man. //I can't blame you, Zechs. He gets on a lot of people's nerves. To think a soldier even dared take a bullet for him. . . I don't think I'd have bothered, myself.// But it paid to be courteous to the leader of the pro-violence faction of the Alliance anyway. . . for now. "General Septum. Good of you to meet me," Treize offered smoothly.  
  
"You've brought a /pet/, Kushrenada?" the man snarled disbelievingly, eyeing the cat with disgust. "What is the zoo reject for? This is an investigation, not a circus."  
  
//I'm not so sure I'll believe that, with you in charge.// Treize merely smiled slowly, sliding his hand through that silky ruff to stroke between alert ears. "Silver? He owns me more than I own him, I dare say. He wouldn't let me leave him at home, I'm afraid. . . /You/ could try convincing him otherwise--"  
  
Silver exposed massive fangs at the general in a snarl daring just that. The surprised official jerked back a step warily.  
  
"--but personally, I don't judge it wise to argue with six-inch claws as fast as his," Treize finished with a sly grin.  
  
Silver's snarl slid back into hiding, though the young Oz leader could still feel the thrum of an unvoiced growl under his hand. //Yeah, Septum's voice /is/ rather annoying, isn't it, Zechs? I'm sorry, but it seems he /is/ in charge here.//  
  
"Oh, very well. . . Lieutenant Une?" the man called to one of the soldiers lingering in the background. "Come here and take that hindering animal off his Excellency's hands so we can get down to business. . . "  
  
Silver eyed General Septum evilly as a young woman, about Treize's own age with her hair set in a twin set of conservative buns, stepped forward with a crisp salute. "Sir," she barked smartly.  
  
Treize shook his head with a patient sigh, looking down at Silver, who glanced back up at him curiously. //Septum. . . You /are/ an idiot. I just said he's not willing to leave me!// "Really, General Septum. . . Silver here is probably less of a hindrance than you'd suspect. Besides, as I just said--he refuses to leave me."  
  
But the young lady had stepped forward, eyes beaming at Treize, and murmured hopefully, "I can take good care of him, Sir."  
  
Treize snorted at her determination. //I'm sure. But he's staying with me.// "I'm certain of that. However, he won't cooperate with any of /you/, so you might end up missing a few things by trying. . . such as limbs, internal organs, liters of blood. . . Trust me, it is simply easier to let him be," he told her gently. Turning back to General Septum, he gestured with his cane. "Shall we proceed? As you say, we're wasting time."  
  
With a sharp glare, General Septum waved Lieutenant Une away, and led the way at a pace that made Treize's bad leg ache--probably intentionally set. Lieutenant Une fell into step behind Treize and the cat, patient and quiet.  
  
"I will show you the room in which General Catalonia was holding his morning briefing when he was killed. Lieutenant Une is in charge of the investigation, and will show you what evidence she has found so far. She will catch the killer," the German general grumbled confidently. "I trust the General of the Specials will not interfere with normal procedure in that respect?"  
  
//Daring me to twist the rules in my favor. No, she seems sincere, and Zechs shows no signs of suspecting her of anything. . . But we'll guide her if we find anything!// "No, General Septum, I have no intention of interfering unless something requiring the help of the Specials arises in this investigation," he answered coolly, hiding a smile.  
  
The man paused and glared pointedly at Silver, who paced leisurely at Treize's side. "I trust you won't tax our hospitality with that. . . thing, either?"  
  
Silver laid his ears back and glared at the Alliance general sharply.  
  
//Easy, Zechs, easy,// Treize soothed, stroking the silky fur. "Hardly. He will room with me. I assure you, he's quite a clean creature. . . " //More than some men I know. Did you wash your hair in the past year, Septum? Doesn't look like it.//  
  
That drew a couple curious looks from both his human companions, but Treize merely smiled and kept his silence. //I hope Zechs won't mind that we bunk together.// But a glance down told him that the cat showed no reaction at all, still pacing him with soft steps. //Perhaps he has other things--even scents--on his mind. . . //  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Well. . . Here you are. I leave you--and that /thing/--to Lieutenant Une's competent hands," General Septum grumbled, abandoning the three at a plain door that looked like any one of the half hundred they had already passed in the main building.  
  
"Dog person," Treize muttered under his breath, watching the arrogant, snide Alliance General depart. //He doesn't /have/ to always be an ass to everyone--but he does his best anyway. God save me from more fools like him!//  
  
Lieutenant Une opened the door and waved for Treize to precede her into the room. "Sir."  
  
Entering, Treize looked around, Silver pausing at his side just inside the room, long fluffy tail flicking against Treize's knees. A simple conference room, half the chairs were overturned, seemingly in the haste to reach the fallen general. Blood splattered the wall and floor by the large shattered window to the center of the compound, showing the man had been shot standing-and where he bled all over the carpet after he fell. The bullet was still lodged in the wall, like a bull's-eye with the spread of blood all around.  
  
"It struck him in the chest--a heart-shot, Sir. Dead instantly."  
  
//A shot from outside. . . Where?// Carefully, Treize strode towards the window, watching his feet so as not to disturb anything, to stop just beyond the bloodstains. "Lieutenant Une, has the location of the shooter been identified yet?" he asked, loosing his hold on Silver so the cat could stay out of the splattering of sharp glass.  
  
Standing by the door still, she nodded firmly. "Yes Sir. . . across the complex on the roof of the experimental suit hangar. We found shellcasings, but no fingerprints. An old make of sniper rifle, Sir."  
  
"No gun?"  
  
"Whoever it was, they weren't a /complete/ idiot, Sir," she answered, hints of amusement making her voice purr.  
  
//You'd think they would clean /that/ up, though. Leaving shells is still leaving evidence. Unless they intended to confirm that as the shooter's position? Perhaps. . . a bit to the right on that roof would still have enough of an angle for the trajectory I can eyeball here. . . or the building to the left? What's that building for, I wonder? It's been ages since I've visited this base.// He was about to step closer to the window when he realized there was slack on the chain in his hand, and Treize glanced down. . . //Zechs, you'll cut your feet!//  
  
Silver was sniffing curiously at the corner of the room, where the inner wall of the room met that holding the window. His ruff was up, almost hiding his collar, and a low thrum of a growl was just barely audible. Cautiously, Treize picked his way closer, curious. . .  
  
The cat abruptly turned, giving Treize the softest, shortest hiss he'd ever heard.  
  
//Did I do something wrong?// Treize froze.  
  
Silver slowly stepped towards the window, picking his footing with the greatest care and setting each paw down delicately--shaking each after he lifted it to remove glass clinging to his fur. Moving to the window, he reared up on hind legs, front paws setting on the sill as the creature looked out.  
  
"Sir. . . ?" Lieutenant Une watched with wonder--and the slightest frown of annoyance.  
  
Quickly, Treize motioned her into silence. //He found something. . . // "Silver. . . ?" he asked softly, stepping closer, his foot crunching on glass as he neared the cat.  
  
Like a whirlwind, the massive feline twisted--and leapt--at Treize, flattening him backwards--  
  
Soft fur engulfed Treize, the weight pinning him to the carpet surprisingly light for such a massive creature, but the glass under him was uncomfortable, and Silver's move had knocked the wind clear out of Treize's lungs--  
  
//Zechs?!?//  
  
Glass shattered around them as another shot tore through the window!  
  
"General!"  
  
Lieutenant Une had jumped forward, reaching for her gun, to protect Treize at that blinding attack, but before she could even reach the man, Silver was up again, sailing over her in a single graceful bound.  
  
Treize levered himself up on his elbows, twisting to look.  
  
The poor woman fell backwards in surprise, and also turned to gaze after the cat's lunge.  
  
Without pausing, Silver leapt at the door, planting clawed paws on the wall and catching the knob in his teeth, opening the door with a twist of his neck and surging out, into the hall, leaving faintly bloody prints in his wake.  
  
"I want him /alive/, Silver!" Treize hollered after the cat, struggling to get to his feet and scrabbling wildly for his cane, cursing his lameness. //Damn it, Zechs, wait for back-up! I don't want you shot!//  
  
Lieutenant Une lunged to his aid, helping him up into a low crouch and handing him his cane swiftly before dragging him to safety, out of view of the window. Slamming a fist onto the com by the door but still supporting Treize's weak side, she bellowed into it, "Secure the hangar--especially the roof! And if you see a cat, get the hell out of its way!"  
  
Treize, shrugged free of her assistance and limped for the door as fast as his leg allowed, biting his lip against the pain. Without turning, he suggested to her urgently, "Not just the hangar--the buildings next to it, too!"  
  
//Be safe, Zechs! Don't get yourself hurt--not for me, please! I'd never forgive myself--and Dorothy would /kill/ me!//  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
//How dare they. . . ! How /dare/ they!//  
  
It was a pounding litany, a snarl he couldn't voice intelligibly, driving Zechs's pounding paws as he flew down the staircase, bowling soldiers aside like jackstraws when they didn't get out of his way fast enough. Someone daring made a reach for the dangling chain, only to have it jerked out of their feeble grip by his sheer momentum--the cat never even noticed. Others heard the shouts of surprise only in time to look up and add shrills of terror before they, too, were shoved aside by the feline missile.  
  
//He is mine--MINE! And dead soon, too!// With his blood up, surging, fueled by his rage, he had no doubts about those facts--it even drowned the pain of the small cuts in his pads, the dull burning along his left ribs. . . /His/ prey. Nobody who wanted to live would come between him and this prey! //MINE!//  
  
The last doors were ahead, but he had a plan for dealing with them. Leaping high, he slammed both lower paws on the release-bar, letting his sheer weight and momentum send the door crashing open, then launching and twisting--  
  
To land on his feet and resume his all-out run. With ears laid back, his air-gulping breaths hissed between bared teeth--claws were partially extended, mainly for traction on the rough asphalt of the compound grounds, seeming to spin the earth under him more than propel his body over it. Like an arrow, he tore for the building opposite the main offices.  
  
It wasn't the hanger he was aiming for.  
  
Diagonally through a mass of evening traffic, at that. Trucks full of troops were always on the shuffle on a base, along with supplies, equipment, and heaven knew how many officers of various ranks driving recklessly around in jeeps, hummers, or--if they were more than just officers or important visitors--limos. Sometimes with a cautious escort.  
  
But not even traffic was going to stop him!  
  
//Foolish-idiot-drivers--Get a damn driving license, you!--always on the gas pedals--can't drive a bloody paper plane without mishap!//  
  
The cat darted between the wheels of a truck, just escaping having his tail flattened by the rear wheels, to pop up in front of a jeep that slammed on the brakes and almost swerved into the truck as if it preferred to crash into the truck than an animal. Another bound and he was safe from /that/ lousy driver, but in the middle of a sea of MPs on motorbikes, the owners of which who were so amazed that they craned their heads to get a second look--only for a pair of them to collide into a heap because they weren't watching where they were going!  
  
Needless to say, Zechs got out of /that/ as fast as his legs could carry him!  
  
//I WILL get him! He tried to hurt Treize. . . He /dared/ to try to hurt Treize!!!//  
  
Evading another truck threatening to run him down, he darted between two more jeeps, leapt /over/ a gaping soldier on a motorbike--which sent /that/ fool into a wipe-out--and sped up in a surge to cross the final tangle of traffic ahead. . .  
  
//He DIES for that!!!//  
  
Traffic ahead was going to be difficult. . .  
  
Zechs jumped into it at an angle without so much as a hesitant pause.  
  
Tires screeched. One vehicle swerved, barely evading clipping the streak that was Zechs. An oncoming jeep slammed to a halt, digging tires into the asphalt in a desperate attempt not to hit the cat--  
  
--The scent of burned rubber, the sound of someone's shout of horror, the driver cringing in his seat behind the wheel, expecting a heavy impact--  
  
Zechs jumped up with all his strength!  
  
--only to stare in awe as the massive creature landed feet-first on the hood with a metallic thump and launched over the /rest/ of the vehicle from there as if its legs were made of springs, clearing the jeep without a scratch!  
  
And Zechs was clear, at the doors to his chosen destination.  
  
//Idiot drivers. . . //  
  
Coming at the entrance doors to the residence building at a slight angle, he tucked head down and struck shoulder-first, smashing the unsuspecting door clear off its hinges, only to roll and bounce back to his feet after.  
  
Glaring around, ears laid back, he sent a couple young women in uniforms running, screaming, and no few young men, for that matter.  
  
//Cowards! Just point me to the bloody stairs!!!//  
  
Zechs knew what floor his target had aimed from. He had seen the faintest movement through an open window across the compound. Colorless vision he had, yes--but in return had come something else: a sensitivity to movement. Cats had, he read, a reflexive drive to chase anything that ran away. . . But in his case, he found that he could refine it, concentrate on it--or ignore it if he so chose. He had chosen to focus on it--in time to see the faint glint of distant metal, to hear the crunch of glass as Treize stepped within the man's sights. . .  
  
//Thank God for National Geographic.// Articles on the big cats had always drawn him, and one in particular had mentioned the differences between cats and people. . . Very, very useful, for a man who had no access to the notes of the experimentation performed on him!  
  
A gasp behind him made him turn--and he saw the stairs in time to also glimpse a soldier fleeing up them.  
  
//Thank you!// he growled--which probably was taken the wrong way. Possibly because Zechs then surged up the staircase in the poor man's wake!  
  
Distantly, he could hear people panicking in the rest of the building, and sirens from MPs pulling up outside. . .  
  
Then he had reached the floor he sought.  
  
Gathering himself, Zechs flung himself at the door with a vengeance. A plain thing, simple hinges surrendered to reveal--  
  
Empty.  
  
//NOOO!!!// His bellow of rage echoed throughout the building.  
  
Furious, he stalked inside, to the window he had seen from across the compound, tail lashing as violently as a whip. Furniture, a small kitchen to one side, a bedroom tucked beside it--compact quarters. A sock on the floor suggested they had an owner. The window was wide open, shades drawn up and gently swinging. . .  
  
He could smell gunpowder. //I was right--he shot from here!// But the gun, any shells, the shooter--they were gone. But not /quite/ completely! //I can smell him. . . Yes, a "him". I will know you when we meet again! And we WILL meet again!//  
  
A tentative sniff at the sock, and he growled. //He's no fool. This isn't /his/ quarters. But somehow he had access. . . //  
  
Growling, Zechs dug his talons into the cheap carpeting, resisting the urge to shred it and vent his frustrations.  
  
//So close! I was so damn close! But I will know him again. . . // Taking a deep breath, he memorized that scent firmly. //Oh, you won't escape me. . . Not a second time!//  
  
"Silver. . . ?" a familiar voice called distantly.  
  
//Treize. . . // Turning his back to the window, Zechs paced back out into the hall, then towards the stairs, retracing his steps at a slower pace than his earlier mad dash. //There's nothing to see here. . . Only smell. And I know none of you can scent it.//  
  
Clambering up the stairs breathlessly, with a worried Lieutenant Une supporting his bad side, Treize looked a bedraggled, harried mess when Zechs found them. He flowed down the steps to meet them, ignoring the increasingly-persistent ache along his ribs and sore feet, easier to notice now that his rage had cooled somewhat.  
  
"Silver? Thank God--if that idiot shot at /me/ without hesitation, what made you think you'd be guarded against his bullets?!?" Treize admonished, glaring, fear echoing in his eyes. That fear changed to instant concern, however, as those eyes widened on the cat. "He /did/ hit you!"  
  
//Better me than you, Treize. . . // Zechs rumbled softly in his throat, and sat neatly on the step just ahead of the man. //It can't be too bad. I don't feel weak from it, just sore.//  
  
"Did he kill him, Sir?" Lieutenant Une asked uncertainly, eyeing the pair warily.  
  
Treize's eyes were asking that same question, level with his own, sorrow and guilt in the Oz General's bright eyes.  
  
Zechs shook his head in a slight negative--then laid his ears back and snarled furiously briefly, venting his anger vocally.  
  
The subtle shift in Treize's posture was hard to catch, but Zechs's eyes didn't miss it--Treize was relieved. //For my sake. He knows--killing bothers me, for all it's appropriate here. He takes too much on his shoulders,// Zechs sighed to himself, touched nonetheless.  
  
"You didn't catch anything. . . It's all right, Silver--you did well. You moved faster than anything else on this base," Treize murmured, reaching a hand to scratch behind Zechs's ears, as he would a housecat.  
  
Zechs was caught off-guard by the action. Nobody had ever dared try it before this, after all. But those fingers stroking his fur, combing it. . .  
  
//Ahhh. . . Don't stop. That feels so. . . /good/! Mmmm. . . // He couldn't help it. His eyes slid half-shut with pleasure. //Don't understand this. . . but it feels sooooo nice. . . //  
  
"It seems he missed the culprit, Lieutenant Une. Though I'm sure he found the right location. . . "  
  
"He's. . . an amazingly-trained animal, Sir."  
  
//Mmmm. . . More, Treize. . . This is /soooo/ good. . . // Zechs just ignored what they were saying. A thrumming vibration filled his throat, startling even the cat himself, though the stroking was too nice to let him worry about it. //I'm. . . /purring/? Oh. . . nice. . . Mmmmmmm. . . //  
  
"Ah. . . yes. Personally trained," Treize flung out, concocting a quick story. "Better than a guard-dog, I daresay. Smarter."  
  
//I should hope so!// Icy blue cat-eyes opened fully at that. . . and he snorted softly.  
  
And winked playfully at Treize before surrendering to that stroking again..  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"I assure you, Lieutenant, I can manage his injuries well enough on my own. Silver would never willingly harm me," Treize was sighing as he closed the door to his suite--ironically, in the very same building Zechs had dashed into after the unknown assassin.  
  
Zechs yawned as he padded further into the foyer, sniffing cautiously at the air, his tail curling into fluffy question-marks. //Hmmm. . . Not too bad quarters. . . for all they likely expect me to destroy them.//  
  
Treize limped past him, carrying a suitcase-sized first-aid kit into the bedroom, leaning heavily on his cane. Probably tired and aching. . . Not that Zechs felt much better at the moment.  
  
Limping a bit himself, Silver padded into the bedroom after Treize, taking in with a single glance the royal-seeming curtained queen-sized bed, the rosewood furniture, the carpet he was leaving the occasionally blood- smudged paw-print on. The bathroom was his goal. //I feel like a filthy rag. . . and I'm thirsty.//  
  
Without hesitation, he dipped a paw into the large tub to seal the bottom, then nudged the faucets on full to start filling, and took a deep breath. . .  
  
And /changed/.  
  
Zechs couldn't help a groan of pain as he returned to his normal self, on all fours on the soft floor mat of the bathroom, panting from the effort. //I /hate/ doing this when I'm hurt. It hurts enough to change--I don't need more pain on top of it! But I'm sick of the damn collar, and I just. . . I just want to be /me/ again. And people say hard to limp on /two/ feet--they should try limping with /four/!//  
  
"Silver. . . ?" Treize's voice carried concern, and Zechs could hear the thump of Treize's cane, hear the man grunt from the effort of standing again.  
  
Using the side of the tub to haul himself to sore feet, Zechs echoed that grunt. "I'm alright, Treize," he called softly, reaching up to unhitch the collar and let it clatter to the floor. "But I claim first dibs on the bath." //And you just /try/ taking that from me! I am /not/ licking my fur clean. . . That's one sick habit I'm glad to not develop!//  
  
Treize thumped his way closer slowly. "Are you sure?" he asked cautiously. "I mean. . . do you need help? How bad is it?"  
  
The mostly-full tub had become too appealing to resist. Zechs swung over the side and slid into the warm water with a soft, pleased sigh. //Mmmm. . . Rather like Treize's ear-scratching. Good. . . // "It's hard for me to see. . . but I've had worse, Treize. I'll need some help bandaging it later, though--it's rather awkward to wrap my own ribs."  
  
"Hmmm," came an assenting grunt, as Treize limped into the bathroom. He paused by the door, looking intently at Zechs for a moment, as if making sure he wasn't lying about those wounds, something almost. . . possessive?. . . in those bright eyes.  
  
Zechs sank lower into the water self-consciously, blushing. //Treize. . . Good thing you're not part-feline like me, or I'd suspect you are about to pounce! Not. . . that I'd really mind, I think. I. . . I think I like being close to you. . . having you touch me. . . as cat /or/ man, honestly. I don't /understand/ it, but I /do/ like it. . . //  
  
"You could have been killed," Treize murmured quietly, roughly, breaking his intense gaze finally to go over to the toilette, close the lid, and seat himself on it carefully.  
  
//That bothers you. You're upset--because I might have been hurt? Been killed? Death's not so new to me--you know that.// Zechs shook his head a bit, long hair swishing in the water behind him, and reached for a bar of soap. "I'm not so easy to pick off. I /am/ trained in that respect--it was part of the Project," he assured grimly.  
  
Treize shook his head, as if having trouble accepting that, but unable to deny it, and sighed softly. "Well. . . What did you find? I know you noticed something in the conference room. . . "  
  
//More than you want to know, I think.// Rubbing the bar on sore, cut hands, he began by cleaning them and his face, buying himself some time to think over what exactly to say. //He should know the truth, though some of it's conjecture and little else. . . //  
  
Dunking his head, he came up with wet hair in his way, and swiped it aside with a hand to stare boldly into Treize's eyes. //You deserve to know, Treize. . . // "Would you call Lieutenant Shimmel a pacer by habit, Treize? You said some such a while back, I recall," he asked, to confirm his suspicions and the theory in the back of his mind.  
  
Bright eyes narrowed at him sharply, suspiciously. "Yes--the man can't keep still when agitated. . . Rather like you, to be honest, now that you mention it."  
  
Zechs chuckled at the thought. "No, he's no feline, that much I can tell. . . But he stood by that window for a long time during that conference. At just the right spot that, had he wished to speak to him, your uncle would have had to turn to directly face the sniper's bullet."  
  
Treize's teeth clenched, and his brow furrowed angrily. "So you're saying Shimmel helped the assassin?" he asked with cautious stiffness, clearly not liking the idea, but not rejecting it.  
  
//I can't confirm it, though that's what I think. And it's not a thought easily digested! Neither for me, nor you.// After a moment, Zechs shrugged a little, and set about soaping his long hair and shoulders. "There's no way to tell--it may be innocent, but it might not. But it means we can't trust him now," he pointed out. "Not until we know. . . "  
  
". . . If Shimmel's part of it. All right, that I can accept," Treize sighed wearily, resting chin on the back of the hands on the cane. "And the assassin himself? I assume it's the same one as who shot at me."  
  
Zechs frowned a bit, thoughtful, as he washed his arms. ///Are/ they the same person? Perhaps not. I can't tell unless I can smell the murder weapon used on General Catalonia.// "I don't know," he admitted softly. "I'd have to compare the scents from the room I smashed into with those on the evidence Lieutenant Une found. Maybe."  
  
"Did you get a good look at who shot at me?"  
  
"No," Zechs growled angrily, upset with himself. //So close!// "But I'll know him again. I know his scent now--he can't hide. Not on this earth!"  
  
Chuckling at that vehemence, Treize reached forward and brushed clinging bangs from Zechs's eyes. "Oh, I don't doubt it. We'll get him. . . " But there was a slight, admonishing emphasis on the "we".  
  
Sheepishly, Zechs smiled back at the older man, studying him, memorizing him in that--theoretically blue--uniform that fit him like a glove. . . //Treize. . . whatever would I do without you? You've put purpose back into my life. I'll do my best to keep you--if only for my own selfish need to be near you.// And blinked, head tilting a bit in puzzlement as his eyes caught something about the section of the jacket below Treize's waist. . .  
  
"What?" Treize asked, startled and confused, looking down at his own uniform jacket, and lifting the corner. . .  
  
White.  
  
With a horrified expression, Treize pinched the white delicately between two fingers, holding it up for both to scrutinize.  
  
Fluffy. White. Cat-hair.  
  
Stunned fingers released the fluff, to float off to the floor to grow into a future dust-bunny, as Treize rose to his feet, dismay all over his face as he stared over his poor uniform. His poor /pale/ uniform!  
  
"Cat-hair!" the dignified man exclaimed in helpless distress. "I'm /covered/ with. . . What the /hell/?!? You're SHEDDING!!!"  
  
//Isn't that. . . normal?// Zechs could only smile in helpless amusement, and shrug a resigned apology. "Doesn't everyone?" he asked innocently. "I /do/ also cough up hairballs on occasion, but /that/, I know, isn't exactly common."  
  
With an exasperated curse, Treize stomped towards the bedroom, brushing vainly at his uniform. At the doorway he paused, glared at Zechs, and lifted a lecturing finger, snapping, "Don't even /think/ of coughing one of those disgusting things up here!" Turning back towards the bed--and his bag of clean clothes on it--he paused a moment, then whirled on Zechs again and added sharply, "And if I see /one/, just /one/ chewed plant here, I'm trading you in for Dorothy on this venture!"  
  
//You said nothing about clawing the furniture, though,// Zechs added silently, unable to hold back a snicker.  
  
The blonde had to almost duck under the water to avoid the washcloth flung at him before Treize stalked out, but his snickers turned to smothered chuckles.  
  
"Cats!" the Oz Specials General's frustrated voice flung at the uncaring walls of the suite.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
To be continued. 


	5. These Days It's Harder To Say

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
Chapter 5-These Days It's Harder To Say  
  
**Some things may be hard to say, but they do get conveyed during the night. A bit of Lime here, I think. . . **  
  
AC 192 still, that night. . .  
  
Treize finished wrapping the ace bandage over the gauze padding over Zechs's ribs by tying it off carefully, expertly. "There," he sighed, smiling. "Done."  
  
The younger man, partly wrapped in Treize's only navy-blue robe because nothing else fit him--and "Silver" the cat had no luggage--was seated at the foot of the bed, hands and feet disinfected and already gently wrapped in soft protective gauze to heal during the night. Treize couldn't help but smile softly at him, admiring that slim but powerful body, which had lengthened and filled out over the past year, really ever since the first time he had laid eyes on Zechs.  
  
//You /are/ a beauty, Zechs,// he sighed silently to himself, breaking his gaze away to pack up the rest of the first-aide kit as the younger man re- adjusted the robe to cover himself. //So modest. . . You were lucky, too- -that shot only scraped your ribs a bit and bruised them a bit--at worst, cracked one. It could just as easily have gone /through/ you.//  
  
Zechs yawned widely, lifting a wrapped hand to cover it, then stretched his shoulders a bit, making joints crack audibly. "I suppose it's the couch or the floor, then. I'm just glad we ate dinner on the plane--I /never/ want to find out what 'Fancy Feast' tastes like, but I'm pretty sure this lot would try feeding it to me!"  
  
//The floor? The couch? He got hurt for me--if anyone gets those, I do!// Treize shook his head firmly, and laid a restraining hand on Zechs's bare arm. "You are most certainly /not/ taking the floor! /You/, my dear guard- cat, are staying here on the bed!" Reaching for his cane with the other hand, he moved to stand, wincing a bit at his aching leg. //Damn injury. . . //  
  
That arm escaped his grip deftly, and caught his elbow to keep him from lifting off the bed. "What about /you/, Treize? You can barely walk to the couch! Don't deny it--that leg of yours is in bad shape, and only a fool would push it further right now," the younger man scolded sharply, eyes flaring.  
  
With a sigh, Treize kept his seat on the edge of the bed, and thumped his cane on the floor glumly. //What do we do, then? You're half-naked--that robe doesn't hide much, and I /already/ dream of you as is. . . I'd hate to see your reaction if you wake up with me pawing you!// Flushing faintly, he asked without looking, "What do you suggest, then?" //Don't say we share, you foolish, handsome thing, because--//  
  
"Share the bed. It's big enough for two."  
  
//Damn. How am I supposed to leave you alone? You're not making this easy, you know. You deserve to be warned. . . but how can I admit to you that I'm attracted to you without making you rejecting even the friendship we've formed?//  
  
"Zechs," Treize began hesitantly. "I. . . In my sleep, I might do strange things. . . " //God, that's an awkward way to put it, Treize. Come now, you're a public speaker--there /has/ to be better in this thick skull of yours, somewhere!// Try as he might, though, Treize could think of nothing better to say, let alone add.  
  
The blonde snorted, and stood, limping around to the other side of the bed, where he lifted the edge of the covers. "Do you snore?"  
  
Treize blinked in slow surprise. "Not that I know of."  
  
"Kick or strike out in your sleep?"  
  
"I don't think so." //Where is he going with this?//  
  
"Roll a lot?"  
  
"Not terribly."  
  
"Talk?"  
  
"Definitely not."  
  
"Wet dreams?" Zechs smirked with that one.  
  
"Zechs. . . ," Treize growled. //Only about you!//  
  
A soft laugh. "Answer it!"  
  
"Not lately," he flung back with heavy sarcasm. //Don't ask further on that, Zechs, because I am /not/ lowering my dignity by explaining how to relieve internal pressures. . . //  
  
Zechs paused a moment--then chuckled softly, shaking his head, his long, still-damp cascade of hair pulling at soft cloth of the borrowed robe. "You're a boring sleeper, Treize," he teased, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping beneath the covers, robe and all. Every movement was guarded--his ribs were still sore.  
  
//God help me,// Treize sighed. And resting his cane against the nightstand, the pajama-clad young general discarded his slippers and followed suite, pulling the covers snugly, neatly about himself.  
  
A glance over at the other side of the bed showed Zechs on his right side and stomach, face-down on the pillow, icy-blue cat-eyes almost hidden by wild gossamer strands of palely-gleaming hair. A faint, almost shy smile met his gaze.  
  
//It's going to be hard not to dream of you smiling at me like that, in my arms. . . Oh, Treize, think of something else! Bad boy! Bad!// Sighing resignedly, he blindly reached back and switched off the light.  
  
Icy blue cat-eyes glowed softly in the dark, still meeting his gaze unblinkingly.  
  
//Silver. . . And yet still Zechs. I don't know what to make of you sometimes, my friend. . . // With a grunt, Treize rolled onto his right side, away from that glowing gaze. //But I love you, no matter what. . . //  
  
"Good night, Treize," that familiar soft, low voice offered gently.  
  
"G'night, Zechs," he answered equally quietly.  
  
//Please, let me dream of something utterly weird and immobile--and /not/ Zechs!//  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
//Warm. . . safe. . . secure. . . familiar, good scents. . . quiet. . . dark. . . warm. . . // Zechs purred faintly, mind in a dark oblivion that only allowed those few impressions of the outer world through. He hadn't slept so well since. . . since a very young child, a teddy bear in his arms.  
  
Something around him shifted a bit--  
  
--on top of him.  
  
An annoyingly heavy something, that. Somehow it had been wrapped around him for a while now, an additional--if living--blanket of sorts, but this was too much. It put pressure on his ribs, so he couldn't breathe so well, and that pressure carried around to his sore ones, twinging him awake. Sleepy ice-blue cat eyes cracked open, vaguely pulling his consciousness to the edge of that pleasant darkness for enough reasoning and awareness to deal with this annoyance.  
  
For once, everything was /dark/. Nighttime wasn't really dark to him anymore--not unless he stood in a room without windows or lights and little other illumination filtering in. And he certainly never slept in such a place.  
  
//Dark. . . ?// His eyes opened a little more as he slid gently back into alertness. A curious hand moved from where it had been tucked under his chin to probe that near-blackness. . .  
  
It didn't go more than a few inches before it came in contact with a silken pajama top and end up blocked by someone's firm chest.  
  
Someone, very close, murmured unintelligibly over Zechs's head.  
  
Zechs blinked, frowned, and with his eyes, managed to make out a button not far from his own nose. The scent was familiar--strong--but he'd never thought he'd be so close to the man like this. . . certainly not when he was asleep. //Treize. . . ?// Wonder tickled his spine.  
  
But his ribs were protesting this additional weight being conveyed to them, no matter how minor.  
  
//I'd. . . enjoy this, if I weren't sore there. . . ,// Zechs realized, the notion making him thoughtful. Staring at his hand in that deep darkness, he tentatively stroked it down that smooth surface with a slow flick of his wrist, unable to resist, fascinated by his own movement at how the dark silk shifted under his hand.  
  
His keen ears caught something akin to his own purring, then the arm around him pulled him even closer before his sleepy muscles could react, that head above his own dipping, nuzzling his damp hair, a leg wrapping around his own two. Oh, other than the annoyance of that weighty shoulder and the man's side pressing on his ribs, breathing wasn't a problem--enough space stayed in the angle formed by Treize's body half-covering his own and the mattress.  
  
//It feels wonderful. . . // Held so close, Treize's musky scent was almost intoxicating, definitely soothing him, enough so that he would have drifted off to sleep again easily, content. . .  
  
If it weren't for those damn sore ribs. //It hurts. . . Though--I think I've wanted this. I haven't. . . Nobody held me, not since. . . I don't remember being held like this, to be honest. Not. . . close. . . for a long time. . . Not. . . sleeping. Just short, brief--what duty and dignity allowed.//  
  
"Treize," he whispered so faintly he barely heard himself.  
  
The form half-covering Zechs stroked his upper back a little in a sort of unconscious reply, smoothing long pale hair along the back of the tangled robe.  
  
//Mmmm. . . // Zechs closed his eyes at the good feelings that created, unable to withhold a faint purr. //I don't want to disturb him. . . or end this. But my ribs really /are/ starting to hurt.//  
  
"Treize. . . ?" This time he was louder, though he kept his voice gentle, so as not to startle the man.  
  
A protesting sound above his head, reluctant.  
  
"Treize. . . Treize. . . ?" He repeated the man's name, not changing the volume. //God knows how he's going to react to this. . . //  
  
"Hmmm?" It was more of a grunt than anything else, and the heavy form stiffened a little as awareness returned to the man. Then, in surprise, turning to horror, "Zechs. . . ?"  
  
Treize abruptly jerked backwards--but Zechs was faster.  
  
Zechs grabbed the front of those pajamas that had been conveniently close to hand, and pulled back with just enough force to prevent Treize from rolling further than to his side. //You're not escaping!// he chuckled slyly to himself, glancing up daringly through his fringe of bangs. //I like this--I'm /keeping/ it!//  
  
Treize's bright eyes were staring down at him in a mixture of panic, fear, concern, and dread. "Zechs--I'm sorry--" he began, struggling with juggling words, concepts, and his still-sleepy brain towards a coherent result.  
  
"Treize," Zechs murmured, smiling slightly back at the man, "it's alright. . . You were just leaning too much on my ribs." //Relax, Treize. . . I think I understand your words from earlier now.//  
  
"I. . . I'm sorry, Zechs," Treize whispered, aghast, his weight pulling the silk in Zechs's hands as he leaned in the opposite direction, and he lifted his arm from over the younger man--their legs were still entangled. "I won't. . . It won't happen again--I promise." Those bright eyes turned away, but not before. . .  
  
//You're embarrassed--and hurt? Because you hurt me? But I'm fine now. . . // Zechs didn't let go of the lapels of the man's pajamas completely, but freed one hand to poke Treize's chest. "Do you see me cringing away, Treize? It's alright," he reassured firmly, amused.  
  
Treize paused, looking back at Zechs, a strange kind of hope glimmering in his eyes. . . After a brief hesitation, the weight of that arm returned, reaching around to brush Zechs's hair shyly, experimentally, his gaze echoing his next words. "This is. . . You don't mind?"  
  
//Mmmm. . . Feels good.// Zechs smiled slowly, eyes half-lidding, feeling a purr begin in the back of his throat again. "No," he breathed softly, unable to hide the pleasure in his voice. "Feels. . . very good."  
  
A soft, wondering chuckle over his head drew attention back into the younger man's glazing eyes, forcing Zechs to look up. "I was wondering. . . ever since I found you. . . just where your preferences lie, my friend," Treize murmured teasingly.  
  
//Wherever it lies for cats, I suppose. To be honest. I don't know where they lie.// Zechs sighed softly, closing his eyes. "Treize. . . ," he began gently. //No sense in hurting him, though.// "I don't think I've ever found out, myself. . . ," he admitted.  
  
Treize buried his face in Zechs's hair, not a sound escaping him, though he tensed against the younger man.  
  
//I probably /have/ hurt him. I didn't know he. . . might like me. Like this, anyway. I didn't know /anyone/ could!// So he gave the truth, and with it, a rare gift indeed--his thoughts--in the hopes that maybe Treize could make sense of it. "All I know. . . I like you, Treize. . . a lot. . . And this. . . feels good, somehow. . . right. . . It's probably wrong, but everything about me is twisted, I suppose--"  
  
That arm about him instantly tightened, pulling him against Treize's chest, the older man leaning back to give him enough room that he could lift his head. Bright eyes blazed into his own. "Don't say that--it's not true," Treize scolded with firm conviction, slipping his other arm around to enclose Zechs more firmly--almost as if he feared Zechs might escape. "The only twisted thing was what they did to you. . . And the only things wrong here are the narrow minds of other people."  
  
Startled by the move, Zechs had just let Treize do as he wished, trusting but stiff, tense. Now he stared into those bright eyes, feeling a warmth better than any blanket enclose him with that embrace and those words. //But I can't convince myself of the same, Treize. . . I wonder why?// he thought to himself sadly. "You. . . /care/. . . ," he whispered, shaking his head slightly because he didn't understand, and this awed him--that someone could feel so much for him. "But. . . why? Friends, I can understand, but this. . . this is more. How can you want more--of something like me?"  
  
Treize actually looked saddened to hear that, and rolled onto his back, bringing Zechs along so the younger man half covered /him/. "You think you're a monster," the older man pointed out quietly. "But you're /not/. Until you see that--how can I make you see that?"  
  
//I wish I knew, Treize. . . Life owes me something good, but I doubt I will ever get it. Or am I just unable to see it should such be given to me? I don't know. There's too much I don't know.// Closing his eyes, Zechs rested his head on Treize's chest, stroking the smooth material beneath his hand again and feeling the steady thump of the man's heart beneath-almost feeling Treize smile in response. Wriggling a little, he shifted his body so he was snug against the older man again, curled against Treize's side and partly resting against his chest. A kiss touched the top of his hair gently, a benediction or blessing.  
  
After a moment, Zechs murmured softly, "I can't see blue, either. . . But I can trust you when you tell me something is that color." //I'll trust you on this, Treize. Maybe. . . if I trust enough, hear it enough. . . I'll believe it, too, someday?//  
  
Warm hands stroked his back in long, soothing motions, shoulders to hips, drawing an audible rumble of a purr finally. "Then trust me in this, too. . . ," Treize pleaded gently.  
  
//It feels. . . good. . . right. . . Don't stop!// The last was a silent plea for Fate to give him that little blessing. Nuzzling against Treize's chest and shoulder, he smiled with slow mischief, and shifted a bit closer, playfully letting his topmost hand slowly trace its way from the older man's mid-chest to his beltline in a straight movement. //Wonder how to make /him/ purr. . . Will this do it?//  
  
The answering groan and tightening of those arms around him suggested he was on the right track. It was followed by a growl nearly as feral as his own feline ones.  
  
//Ah, I frustrate him!// No, Zechs felt no remorse at all--but a fair amount of sleepy laughter and playful pleasure at his success. Levering up on his arms a bit, he smiled with sly mischief into those bright eyes glaring at him, and leisurely let that hand retrace its route. "I trust you," he stated quietly, a hint of smugness in his voice. //Should /you/ trust /me/?// he wondered in amusement.  
  
The hands stroking his back slowed to a stop, Treize's expression fading into something. . . he couldn't quite place. Studious, maybe. Or fascinated, spellbound. Just gazing at him, those amazing bright eyes. . . so gentle and kind, so caring. . .  
  
One hand slid up under his hair, cupping the back of Zechs's head, the other guiding his shoulders back down, as Treize lifted his own head, eyes half closing. . .  
  
Zechs flowed with the pressure, with instinct, and found his lips against the older man's, his own hair a gleaming curtain haloing them both, tasting yielding warmth and dampness and the faint musk that identified Treize to him in both his forms. He could feel the man's pulse, a broken second behind the heartbeat beneath his own, both a beat slower than his own, yet singing of life and health. Soft lips moved against his own, until they felt that they merged like twin puzzle-pieces, forming a connection that felt so natural that Zechs nearly forgot they had ever been apart. This was--new, strange, yet astounding, wonderful, a new experience of the kind to be savored, preserved, prolonged as much as possible. . .  
  
Perhaps to be tried again, sometime? Repeated?  
  
//Good!!!// He couldn't help that purr thrumming his throat, or letting his own weight increase the contact between their bodies, or his own eyes from half closing with pleasure, or his trapped hands from making small shoving-stroking-pulling-kneading--motions against Treize's chest like a happy cat. //I like this--want this. . . Whatever it is that we have between us.//  
  
One hand stroking his back, pulling him close, spooned against Treize's body. . .  
  
//Bliss. . . Is there more? Why do I feel this can get /better/? Why, when it's so good already?//  
  
Air. He needed to breathe.  
  
//I don't want this to stop. . . No. . . Longer. . . More. . . //  
  
Um. . . air? Don't forget air. The air out there. You need it in here soon.  
  
//Shut up, body. . . //  
  
Hello? If you want to do this again, remember to breathe! Soon! Make that very soon!  
  
//Can hold a bit longer. . . Don't want to stop!// It was a mental wail.  
  
Breathe, damn it--NOW!  
  
With a mental sigh of reluctance, Zechs gave in to the pressures of his lungs and drew back, pushing up a little on his arms to lean over Treize, noses almost touching, blinking a bit dazedly into eyes he knew were blue, but to him were the most fascinating of grays, breathless, amazed.  
  
"Your first kiss?" Treize chuckled in amusement, chest vibrating under the younger man, though his own eyes gleamed with suspicious dampness.  
  
//I. . . I guess that's what it was,// Zechs realized slowly, and smiled shyly, ducking under the faint protection of his long pale bangs in embarrassment.  
  
They tickled Treize's nose, and the man suddenly turned his head aside to sneeze--so as not to sneeze on the cause. Then a gentle hand reached up to brush that annoying concealment away, to force Zechs to look into those warm bright eyes again.  
  
//Treize. . . // The name was a happy, contented, blessed sound he whispered silently to himself. "Thank you," Zechs whispered with all the sincerity he could give to the man in mind, all he could offer in return.  
  
"You're welcome. . . " The smile that answered him was so gentle it almost stilled Zechs's heart, as the older man shifted the pair of them into a slightly more comfortable entanglement, cradling Zechs's head against his shoulder. "We should sleep," came the reluctant verdict from the superior officer, a sigh of regret that was disgusted with reality. "We've killers to catch tomorrow."  
  
//And bad food and idiot officers to avoid,// added Zechs silently. "Mmmm," he grunted, relaxing against Treize and taking a deep breath of the scent that had comforted him so much when he was asleep earlier. "Just don't crush me this time."  
  
A soft chuckle as the hands on his back stroked slowly, reassuringly. "I'll try not to."  
  
//You can crush me later, after these damn ribs stop getting in the way,// Zechs decided, purring again as he drifted off yet once more into the warm, soothing darkness of sleep, finally knowing the cause of the best sleep he had in years. . .  
  
//I think. . . //  
  
//. . . think. . . //  
  
//. . . might. . . be. . . //  
  
//. . . lo. . . //  
  
Purr. . .  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Treize groaned and buried his face into something soft that smelled faintly of soap and a familiar spicy musk, trying to pretend he heard nothing. //Don't want to get up. . . //  
  
The knocking came again, followed by, "Sir? Your Excellency, Sir?"  
  
The source of those wonderful scents stirred a bit against him. . . chuckling? A low chuckle, quiet and smothered against his silk pajama-top.  
  
//Mmmm. . . Zechs. . . ?// Sleepy eyes cracked open with faint surprise and alarm, to stare at hair so pale it could be termed platinum, tickling his nose. Memories filtered back, hazy, but pleasant. //I. . . kissed you? I hope I didn't dream that--it was so nice. . . //  
  
"Better answer them, before they barge in and find you snuggling your cat," the younger man's quiet voice suggested softly, amused.  
  
"Sir!" The summons was urgent, worried now.  
  
"What is it!" Treize bellowed. //Leave me alone--I /do/ want to snuggle my cat, but in peace!// Zechs twitched at the volume. //Erg--sorry, Zechs, I bet that was right into your ears.// Apologetically, the young general stroked that long soft hair, feeling a faint purr begin. . .  
  
"Lieutenant Une said you wanted to go over the evidence, Sir!"  
  
//Yes. . . Oh, damn. Duty before pleasure, I suppose.// Longingly, he looked down at that wild spread of blonde hair so alluringly close--to make out a laughing pale blue cat-eye staring back at him. Treize sighed, for the first time in his career seriously considering abusing his rank's powers and just taking the day off. //Right when my dreams start to be fulfilled. . . //  
  
"Sir?" Whoever it was out there, they probably thought Treize had fallen asleep again.  
  
The amusement in that visible eye faded even as Treize watched. "They'll suspect something. . . ," Zechs murmured warningly, levering his shoulders up to lean over Treize, long hair streaming about his body like a gossamer veil. "You can't afford it--nor can I."  
  
Treize grunted, grimacing. //True. Damn it, it's true. We have to catch Uncle's killer, /and/ the man who almost got me, and keep enough reputation that I can finish Uncle's dream--destroying the Alliance. And do it without suspicion of what you really are falling on the newest and best recruit in the Specials. . . // "Tell her I'll be out in an hour!" he called firmly towards the door.  
  
"Yes Sir!"  
  
//And while you're at it. . . Let's use some of those privileges, shall we?// "And send breakfast up in half that!" he added swiftly.  
  
"Yes Sir! Anything else, Sir?"  
  
Treize glanced at Zechs, who was sitting up with the blankets wrapped around like an oversized cloak. //God, he's handsome. . . // The young man in question was frowning thoughtfully at his bandaged hands, inspecting the cuts not fully hidden by the gauze wrappings. A nudge from Treize's knee brought that attention firmly back to the older man. //Well, Zechs-- what do you think?//  
  
Zechs shrugged, smiling slightly, then took the covers with him off the bed.  
  
//Imp! You may be bigger than that term generally suits, but you're more mischievous than Alice's Cheshire cat!// Treize growled, flinging that smirking pale creature a glare, before calling back to the soldier, who was still patiently waiting outside, "No! That's all!"  
  
"Yes Sir!" Feet clicked audibly together in an unseen salute, then clopped off into the distance.  
  
A snicker. Zechs held the blankets firmly about himself, standing at the end of the bed, his posture screaming that he had no intention of surrendering them anytime soon. That smile was decidedly wicked--and challenging. Cat eyes gleamed slyly, daring. . .  
  
Treize dragged himself to his side of the bed to retrieve his cane and turned an amused smile to the younger man. //You don't know how much I want to just jump over there and tackle you right now. . . // "Come on now, /Silver/. You can hardly curl up in those and go back to sleep. We've things to do," he admonished playfully.  
  
The slight smile from earlier spread slowly, those icy eyes narrowing, laughing back at him. "Rrrreally?" Zechs half-rumbled in a feral tone.  
  
"Don't make me come over there and take them from you," Treize scolded. But he couldn't hold back a growing grin of his own as he limped around the edge of the bed. //You want me to do just that, I see! Correction--you /do/ know how I want to tackle you right now!//  
  
Lips parting in anticipation, Zechs spread his feet subconsciously, tensing, shrugging the blankets a bit higher on his shoulders so they didn't trail, and offered nothing. Visibly set to dodge, whether or not he knew of his own instinctive adjustments to his posture was a good question.  
  
//Sometimes, my friend, I wonder if you realize how much of what you do is on human instinct, how much on feline instinct, and how much is simply good sense and training?// Setting his cane against the footboard, Treize stood facing the younger man, feeling like laughing as he felt adrenaline tickle his blood. //I think I need this exercise. . . //  
  
For a moment, the two stood still, assessing each other. . .  
  
Then. . .  
  
Treize darted a hand as fast as he could for a handful of the cloth fluttering against Zechs's ribs.  
  
He caught merely air, for the younger man simply turned sideways and shifted towards the opposite side in a blur of fair hair and a teasing whirl of blankets, laughing silently back at Treize, his head tilted teasingly to one side.  
  
//Grrr!// Lunging again, Treize tried to trap that blur between two hands this time.  
  
Cloth slid across fingers, escaping just before he could grasp it, and he got a ticklish jab in the waist for his troubles. This time he had to turn around to find Zechs grinning broadly back at him, folding long "wings" of blankets back across his chest.  
  
"Cat!" Treize half-laughed, half-cursed, whirling and leaping again. . .  
  
. . . To only /almost/ grab the tail corner of the blankets as Zechs vaulted the footboard of the bed and rolled to end up lying among the pillows with the contented smirk of someone who had been there for hours, blankets fluttering to a rest around and over him.  
  
Collecting his cane, Treize could only laugh, watching as the younger man cracked a massive yawn and closed his eyes, snuggling up again--  
  
--like a cat.  
  
//Truly like a cat--but he /is/ one, hmmm? Silver indeed! /My/ Silver, though--and only mine!// Shaking his head, Treize limped back to his side of the bed, set his cane down with casual ease, and suddenly lunged at that seeming-sleeping bundle.  
  
This time, Treize caught it in a full tackle, unaware.  
  
Zechs yelped in surprise, but that turned into a soft, deep chuckle, as blue eyes peered out of the tangle of blankets back at Treize. "You are fun to tease," he murmured, smirking.  
  
Treize snorted, bringing himself nose-to-nose with his personal Cheshire cat and holding it close, firmly. //Oh, you just wait, my Silver. /I'll/ show you teasing--when the time is right!// "/I/," he announced with solemn dignity, eyes dancing, "simply don't want cat-fur all over these for the next few nights!"  
  
A warm rumble-purr of a chuckle, and those icy eyes half-closed over an affectionate smile that warmed Treize's heart.  
  
//Ah, how can I resist you? Screw the military! We'll catch Uncle's killer later!// Leaning closer, Treize began to kiss those irresistibly- delicious lips, and prove that he, too, could tease to an alluring level.  
  
That warm mouth responded to his own, the younger man's hands releasing the blankets to encircle Treize's neck, smooth his hair, explore his shoulders in hesitant strokes.  
  
//Mmm, I can see why you enjoy it so much when I stroke your hair like that. . . Purr for me, my Silver, my snow leopard, my Cheshire cat. . . // Still, Treize himself would have purred, if he could. //I want more of you, all of you, but you are so new to this--so trusting--so amazing--I daren't let this go too quickly--you'd be hurt, and hate me for it. I've had so little hope before this, though, I can endure these small delicious moments, savor them. . . They're more than I dared hope for.//  
  
He could hear it now, the soft, deep thrum of a purr beneath his own chest, even as he rubbed noses with his "pet", toying with the younger man's lips during the kiss, to open that mouth beneath his and let him explore inside. . . .. For a moment, icy eyes widened in surprise, confusion--then narrowed, and the younger man began to spar back.  
  
//Yes, Zechs. . . I'll take whatever you're willing to give, as much as you can give me, for as long as possible. . . //  
  
Someone banged on the suite's outer door.  
  
//Oh, DAMN IT!// Treize cursed, startled into jerking his head up and breaking the kiss, and then glancing at the door warily. //Leave me alone already!//  
  
The younger man blinked, and arched his head up to rub cheeks with Treize, astonishing the older man. //Am I being claimed. . . ? Or scent-marked?// Looking down, he felt like he was falling into those ice-blue eyes. . .  
  
"Breakfast, Your Excellency!" someone called through the doors.  
  
Falling back, Zechs just closed his eyes and shook with silent helpless laughter.  
  
Treize glared at him, then sighed regretfully and dragged himself back towards his cane. //Why, why can't I just be surrounded by incompetents? People who let me lazy around, run late to things, skip breakfast--wait a minute, that's being antisocial. Oh what the hell--why can't they let me be antisocial?!?//  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Treize could see Zechs wriggling out of the blankets towards the other end of the bed and sitting up, then starting to untangle himself from the borrowed robe--  
  
--and forced himself to look away as that fell away, to put his attention to grabbing his cane. //Mud, Treize, mud and murder. Back to daily life. . . // A mental sigh of regret followed. //Besides, what will you do if you get worked up, hmm? Jump him?//  
  
Heavy paws, still wrapped in bandages, padded past towards the sitting room of the suite, a flash of a fluffy tail curling into eager corkscrews as it went through the bedroom doorway. . .  
  
//As a /cat/? I don't think so!//  
  
An amused growl in the sitting room. . . ?  
  
//Oh no. . . // Treize thought with trepidation. Quickly, he struggled to his feet and limped as fast as he could for the sitting room, hoping he wouldn't be too late. "Damn it, Silver, don't scare the poor man--" he called urgently.  
  
The door clicked open audibly, something rumbled hungrily--  
  
Something fell heavily.  
  
"--into fainting," Treize finished lamely, sighing. //You just /had/ to scare him. . . //  
  
Treize entered the sitting room in time to see Silver, jaws clamped on the edge of the waiting trolley, pulling backwards into the room with the thing in tow, leaving a poor, fainted soldier in the hall outside. Once the laden trolley was fully in the room, the large feline slapped the door closed with his tail, curling up neatly in a sitting position, cat-grinning at Treize.  
  
The older man leaned on his cane heavily, sighing resignedly. "You just /had/ to growl at him. . . " he admonished. //I suppose he'll wake up soon enough out there, though. . . And I'm /not/ bringing him in here!//  
  
In a blurry shiver of a motion, Silver changed--and Zechs, tucked up neatly and half hidden by hair and the trolley, shrugged, smiling without regret, though a touch sheepishly. "I /didn't/. . . That was my stomach!"  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
To be continued. . .  
  
Higher metabolism--faster breathing rate or bigger breaths required. Cats have high metabolisms. So Zechs has no choice but to come up for air first. 


	6. I Know What I'm Fighting For

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
Chapter 6--I Know What I'm Fighting For  
  
**Easy to figure out when you're falling in love, I imagine. . . **  
  
AC 192 still, later that day. . .  
  
Treize limped along, keeping a smile under a perfect, well-trained poker- face, one hand swinging his cane, the other holding a chain, buried in thick silvery fur. Beside him paced Silver, bandages still about his middle, though his paws remained bare. Zechs had opted for traction and quick access to his claws rather than protecting the mostly-healed cuts further.  
  
//He's expecting action,// Treize surmised grimly, taking some reassurance from the powerful flow of muscle under his hand. //Maybe he thinks he'll catch the assassin today? I'm not so sure about that. They'll be wary of the two of us now. And if they suspect he can sniff them out. . . /he'll/ be the one in danger!//  
  
But he knew Zechs accepted that possibility. He could feel it in the wary confidence of the prowling creature beside him. And he knew better than to try persuading Zechs to leave this now. //It would insult him, if not infuriate him. And he would be right--he /is/ probably a better guard than any other here. Though I'm not a bad hand at defending myself. . . so long as it's not another cat like Zechs!//  
  
The pair stopped at an unmarked door in the engineering and research building's fourth floor, making Treize glance down at his companion in dismay.  
  
"This is it?" he asked Silver incredulously. //They leave their crime lab unmarked?//  
  
Silver looked up at him and snorted.  
  
"It's not that I don't trust your trailing abilities, Silver, but. . . this is rather pathetic." //Maybe Zechs got Lieutenant Une's paths crossed. . .//  
  
That got Treize a grunt. Sitting down, Silver swiped at the door with a large paw, making it rattle against its hinges.  
  
Amused, Treize reached for the latch. //I suspect they're wondering who wants to batter their door down.// "Impatient, aren't we?" he chuckled. "Let me. That way, they won't think someone's attacking their door."  
  
The massive cat actually hmphed.  
  
Shaking his head, Treize turned the latch. It was locked. //Maybe they aren't complete idiots here, after all.// Lifting his hand again, the new Specials leader rapped sharply on the door.  
  
A lab aide warily opened and peeked around the edge of the door, eyes narrowed suspiciously at them a moment before opening the way fully and clicking into a sharp salute. "Your Excellency. . . Lieutenant Une is waiting for you. Third lab on the right," the soldier stated, moving out of their path.  
  
//Better. . . ,// Treize decided, striding through with Silver padding once more on silent feet beside him. He didn't miss the incredulous look struggling to appear on the lab aide's face as the massive cat passed the man. //Probably didn't expect me to bring Silver here. . . But then, if this were anyone /but/ Zechs, I'd find it hard to believe, too!//  
  
Of course, Treize had no intention of stopping to explain that to this soldier, let alone anyone else.  
  
//Tell one, then you may as well tell all, and Zechs's advantage of surprise is lost.//  
  
Together, the strange pair passed through another door and between two guards set to watch over it, to find Lieutenant Une waiting, seated at a desk near the front of the room, an array of plastic bags and a folder on the surface before her. Brown eyes narrowed sharply at the feline presence, but the stone-faced woman made no comment about Silver's presence. Instead, she merely stood and saluted Treize sharply as the pair drew closer and the door was shut behind them by the guards.  
  
Strangely, Treize could feel Zechs balking a bit under his hand as they proceeded over to the woman. . . Glancing down, he hoped the cat would give some indication of his reasons for this behavior, but Zechs only cast wary looks around the room . . . //What's wrong? Something here bothers you. . . but I don't think it's Lieutenant Une.//  
  
"As requested, Sir, here is all the evidence found thus far from General Catalonia's murder," she explained tersely, gesturing at the bags, before indicating a manila envelope and adding, "and here are the interviews and reports made thus far."  
  
//All neat and tidy, if little to go on, I suspect. Only three bags? That's not much physical evidence. . . But she seems competent.// Carefully, minding his bad leg, the new leader of the Specials settled himself in the chair opposite Lieutenant Une, Silver settling next to his chair. //Good, Zechs isn't so bothered now. . . I wonder if he simply doesn't like labs?// "What of the man who shot at me yesterday?" he inquired, picking up the nearest Ziplock bag curiously.  
  
"This is the bullet from the wall. . . There was nothing else to find," the stolid woman offered, picking up a different bag, in which a single bit of deformed metal tumbled about. "We tried that room for fingerprints, but nothing turned up."  
  
//Unless you could smell things like Zechs did,// Treize added to himself, frowning at the small thing which had nearly killed him. Thoughtfully, he examined the bag in his hand, glancing from the two bullets residing there to the lone one it Une's hand. . . //I wonder. . .//  
  
"They were shot from the same gun," the Lieutenant answered before he could even dare the question, following his gaze.  
  
Treize smiled gently. "Thank you. I expected you would have checked that by now." //But can Zechs get anything else from any of this?// Shifting his gaze back down to the two bullets taken from General Catalonia's body, he pried open the plastic with experienced fingers--  
  
"Sir?" Lieutenant Une asked in growing alarm.  
  
He lowered the bag so Silver could reach it.  
  
Lieutenant Une froze, staring, bewildered.  
  
The large cat sniffed tentatively at the edges of the bag, before poking his head in as far as it could go and taking a deep breath, eyes closing. . .  
  
Abruptly, Silver struggled to jerk his head back out, giving his head a bit of a shake to get free even as Treize hastily grabbed at the bag to help pull it off. A moment of panic, but the bullets did not escape the confines of the plastic, thanks to the new General's efforts. Silver, on the other hand, just swiftly turned his head away, sniffled once, then--  
  
"Hhhzzwwwtthhh!!!!" That heavy pale head jerked reflexively.  
  
Lieutenant Une actually /giggled/.  
  
"Bless you," Treize murmured instinctively, blinking at Silver in amused surprise. //No wonder you tried to get it off. I hope it has nothing to do with sleeping with your hair still damp. . . !//  
  
The cat blinked blearily at the pair of then, then snorted--and sneezed again. . . this time on Treize's knee.  
  
"Bless you! I do hope you're not coming down sick, because that will not help us at all," Treize grumbled, looking into those icy cat-eyes firmly. //Zechs, are you alright?// he wondered with concern.  
  
Silver rumbled softly, sitting back on his haunches and lifting a paw, licking it before swiping at his face with it.  
  
//I take it that means you're okay for now,// Treize decided with a mental sigh, before glancing over at Une. . .  
  
She was smiling--a genuine smile now, not the plastered thing she'd worn most of the time he'd seen her. Oh, the forced smile had looked genuine enough--until one saw the real thing and had something to compare to. "I guess he doesn't like to smell gunpowder directly," she pointed out, eyes warm on Treize's face.  
  
//Er. . .// The young General could feel a faint rush of blood to his face, and fought the urge to shudder. //I think she rather likes me. . .//  
  
Something pricked through the leather of his boots into his foot. His /good/ foot. Painfully so.  
  
//Ouch! Shit--what the--?// Treize glared down at his legs--  
  
--to meet glaring ice-blue eyes, and note a large paw deliberately sitting on his foot with claws unsheathed into the durable leather. Zechs was not amused--he could feel a rumble through the shoulder pressed against his knee.  
  
This time, Treize blushed a deep burgundy that could have done his wine collection proud.  
  
//Sorry, Zechs! I can't help it if women fall over me all the time. . . It must be the eyebrows. . .// Clearing his throat, the Specials leader sealed the bag he had taken from Silver and set it onto the table. "Well. . . now for those notes, I suppose." //Mind on business, Treize. . . No, not on to /Zechs/ and how nice he'll look in the nude--business, you idiot! Business!//  
  
The reminding claw neatly removed itself, leaving a few hopefully-not-too- noticeable holes in the previously pristine leather. Yet even as Treize bent over the file and began opening it, trying to ignore Une's amused smile, the massive cat set front paws on top of the desk next to him, sniffling softly at the other bags, whiskers twitching.  
  
/That/ startled Lieutenant Une into protesting, "Your Excellency!", rising to her feet in outrage at the animal's behavior.  
  
Glancing sideways briefly, Treize set the file down long enough to open the Ziplock bag closest to Silver's nose. //Hmmm? What is she worried about?// "Just don't get your head stuck in it again," he murmured to the cat before returning his attention to the file.  
  
Zechs grunted, but he /was/ careful not to press his face too deep this time as he nodes the evidence.  
  
"B-but Your Excellency. . . !"  
  
"That is my title, yes, Lieutenant. Please, do not wear it out," Treize answered without looking up. //What is it now? . . . Ah, Lieutenant Shimmel's interview. . .//  
  
"Your cat--!"  
  
"Silver is hardly going to eat shell casings, Miss Une," he answered absently.  
  
"But--!"  
  
"Lieutenant Une, I told you before, Silver is better trained than most people I know. . . and that includes a fair number of soldiers. Let him be. . . unless he wishes to sniff the contents of the last bag, in which case I request you aid his wish."  
  
Une remained silent for a long moment. . .  
  
//This doesn't add anything to what Zechs figured out, really. . . except that the topic of that meeting was the policy with the colonies. . . But I wonder if this murder had anything to do with Uncle's stance on war with the colonies? I know others are rather adamant about striking now, though Uncle said conservatism on our part now will only aid us in bringing the Alliance down later . . . His stance could very well be why, then.//  
  
"He's no ordinary cat, then, is he. . ." The Lieutenant's voice was quiet and a touch cool.  
  
//What?!?// Treize's head jerked up abruptly, staring at Une in surprise.  
  
Beside him, Zechs bristled visibly, fur fluffing to make him appear all the larger, icy eyes narrowing, lips drawing back slightly in a yet-unvoiced warning at Une. . .  
  
Brown eyes gazed back at both of them accusingly, sharply intelligent, and clearly quite observant, stubbornly pressing her point in silence.  
  
//Damn. . . Now what do we do? I don't want to kill her. . . ! She doesn't seem the bad sort--in fact, she's probably one of the few decent officers in the place, I bet, considering who's running this base!// Resolving himself into full poker-mode, Treize neatly folded his hands together and set them on top of the file he had been reading. "What gives you that idea, Lieutenant?" he asked quietly, as calm as if inquiring about the weather for today. . . a calm he didn't really feel.  
  
A wry smile tugged at one side of her mouth. "I used to /own/ a cat, Your Excellency. They do not act like expert bodyguards, nor carefully inspect evidence like trained search-dogs, no matter how you dream of training them."  
  
Silver's fur slowly began to settle, but those bared teeth stayed visible, those eyes fastened to Une as if he intended to spring at any second for her throat.  
  
//Easy, Zechs,// Treize thought at his "pet", reaching a hand to smooth some more of that still-ruffled fur, though running his hands through it drew a measure of comfort for himself. //I love the feel of you. . . Does your hair stay this soft when you're human?// "I /did/ say he's very intelligent, Miss Une," he repeated with a convincing dismissiveness he did not contain right now.  
  
Her brown eyes narrowed at his words. "Either he's some kind of special creation, Sir, or you have a secret most circus trainers would kill to know."  
  
//Damn. . . And what can I tell her? Maybe I can pass him off as some kind of special project of my own family. . .// "And what would you say if I said both theories hold some truth to them?" he cautiously questioned.  
  
Silver's head whirled to glare at Treize, a faint hiss escaping between those sharp teeth.  
  
//Easy now. . . Better she imagine that half the truth is all the truth than for her to delve to the roots of the matter.// Treize shifted his hand to scratch behind an alert ear.  
  
Une glanced from one to the other, then nodded slowly, sitting down again. "I would say, Your Excellency, that you have the best bodyguard short of walking around in layers of bulletproof armor. And, Sir, I would add that it seems a wise precaution to take here."  
  
Treize smiled faintly, and resumed smoothing Silver's disturbed neck-fur. //Good. She's accepted it.// "But it wouldn't be wise if too many other people theorized about the latest in Oz mascots. . . ," he stated quietly, but with the firmness of a command.  
  
She nodded in acknowledgement, and smiled gently again, looking determinedly into Treize's eyes a moment before offering with soft conviction, "I am not your enemy, Your Excellency. Whatever you ask of me, I'm your ally. . ." She extended her hand slowly towards Silver, adding, "Both of you. . ."  
  
Silver blinked, teeth fading from view, though he didn't move.  
  
Tearing his wary gaze from the Lieutenant, Treize glanced at the cat, wondering where Zechs's opinion stood on this offer. //I trust your judgment, my friend. I /want/ to trust her, but we don't know her too well as of yet. . .//  
  
For a long minute, the cat stayed statue still. . .  
  
Then leaned forward and brought whiskers near that offered hand, sniffing carefully.  
  
Treize relaxed, smiling in relief. //You agree with me, then.// "Very well, then, Lieutenant. . . though I think we should leave Silver's story for later, perhaps." //Like after Zechs and I have a chance to make up something convincing!//  
  
Only a short inspection--then Zechs withdrew, pulling off the desk and nudging Treize's leg with a heavy shoulder.  
  
Treize blinked down at the cat in confusion. //You want something. . . but I've no idea what. I wish you /could/ talk in this form!// "I don't understand," he admitted in a soft whisper.  
  
Lieutenant Une leaned over the desk, frowning in puzzlement as she watched.  
  
Silver seemed to frown at him--scrunching up his nose--sighed under Une's observation, and paced in a jittery circle before stopping to stare into Treize's eyes again, waiting. . .  
  
//Huh?// "That makes no sense at all, Silver," the young General sighed in frustration.  
  
Silver growled, glaring. . . then lifted one hind leg slightly, but purposefully.  
  
//He wants to--Oh!// Treize felt his cheeks become scarlet, and swallowed, hastily grabbing his cane and rising to his feet. "I see. . . Please excuse us, Lieutenant," he hastily flung out before hurrying out with the cat.  
  
Silver led the way at a swift pace--clearly he knew where he was going. //Probably can smell it. . . ,// Treize decided, trying to will his flushed face to a more natural color as his cane clacked against the floor. //Thank God they don't monitor these places, though! I can have a few words with him, then.//  
  
As the familiar sign came into view, Treize released his breath in a heavy sigh. //We /really/ need to work out some kind of signal for this!//  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"I never want to have to do that in public /again/," Zechs's voice grumbled from inside a bathroom stall where he struggled to regain his composure, once Treize had locked the main door to the public facilities on this floor. //That was humiliating!//  
  
Treize merely chuckled outside by the sinks. "Perhaps we should arrange a few simple signals, then," he suggested.  
  
Grunting, Zechs emerged and slapped a faucet heavily, before washing his hands briskly. "I can't imagine anything else we need signals for, though, other than this and when I catch a blood-scent. . . ," he complained. //He's looking at me again. I can feel his eyes. . . They don't leave me. It's--it's not a bad thing, but I don't know, his watching makes me feel. . .//  
  
//. . ./very/ self-conscious!// he decided after a moment. Glancing up into the mirror, he could see Treize's hungry eyes by his shoulder, and flushed deeply. Rarely had be been this near to someone while lacking clothes. . . Modesty was more familiar to him, a thing he had demanded sharply when still part of the project, but here it was impossible!  
  
It felt amazingly, unfairly one-sided.  
  
//I think I'd like this more if /he/ wore equally little right now!// The water continued to run over his hands, though it had finished rinsing the soap away, not that Zechs was noticing. He was too busy staring into Treize's eyes. . .  
  
. . . and not paying enough attention to Treize's mouth, which hauled his focus back by frowning. "Zechs, are you listening to me?"  
  
//Caught daynapping. No matter--they made sure we were /well/ trained. . . ! I can recall things overheard while catnapping or distracted. . . Distracted. . . ?// "You said something about a signal for success?"  
  
Those bright eyes considered him warily, almost disbelievingly, before the young General sighed. "Yes, in case you /do/ spot our man. I want him /alive/," he emphasized. "You can't get answers out of a corpse."  
  
"Them," Zechs corrected softly. //The stakes are higher, I'm afraid.//  
  
"Them?" Treize asked, not terribly surprised, but curious nonetheless.  
  
//Two. . . at least.// "I could barely catch it under the deserts' worth of fingerprint-powder they heaped on everything, but whoever planted those shell casings was not the same as the one who shot at you. As for the bullets from your uncle. . ." Zechs's head dipped in failure. //I tried, but. . .// "I'm sorry, I couldn't get anything past the overwhelming scent of his blood. So two at least."  
  
"Two," Treize sighed softly, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.  
  
The water had stopped. Turning, Zechs ripped away some paper towels and wiped his hands dry. //Two. . . Probably watching out for each other, too. We'll have to be very careful.// "I can step in front of you if I scent anyone suspicious," he offered softly. "That way, at least, is not as conspicuous as pointing with a foreleg like some silly bird-dog."  
  
"Well, birds are dumber than people. . . most people, anyway," Treize conceded, lifting his head to smile warmly into Zechs's eyes. Something about the older man's expression was alluringly suggestive. . .  
  
The blonde blinked, feeling a faint shiver of anticipation tease his spine. //Ah. . . I almost hope he doesn't start anything here--you have to smell this place to believe it!//  
  
Treize stepped closer, his nearness making Zechs retreat a step of his own-- or, rather try to, as the counter blocked any escape by pressing into his lower back. Uncertain of himself, the younger man reached back and gripped the smooth surface, holding his balance as the young Specials leader leaned close--  
  
And pressed warm lips to his in a kiss, strong arms encircling his waist.  
  
//Screw the smell.//  
  
The only scent he cared about was the one so close to him, the echo of the taste in his mouth, the source being the clothed body pressing against his until the counter began to make his spine ache faintly. Only faintly, though, as his mind was in a bliss beyond pain at the moment, intent on Treize's supple mouth and the tongue so thoroughly exploring his teeth--as if the older man wanted to confirm he didn't retain his fangs in this form, and only believed in what he could feel. One hand abandoned the counter- top and wrapped around the young General's neck, pulling him closer, as Zechs tilted his head a bit more so their teeth wouldn't clip each other.  
  
//Oh, I want more of this. . . !// The younger man slid his hand into the soft hair at the nape of Treize's neck, stroking as he himself enjoyed being stroked. //Lieutenant Une can wait!//  
  
Treize's embrace tightened, enough to give Zechs's injured ribs a sharp twinge of pain, one hand slipping higher to toy with the ragged ends of the younger man's long hair, the other dropping down to pull his hips forward, easing the strain on Zechs's lower back. He could feel their hip bones grind against each other a bit. . . among "other things". . . and the blonde's breath caught in sharp surprise at his own reaction to this intimate contact. . .  
  
Literally!  
  
Bad thing to do. Zechs accidentally bit Treize's tongue.  
  
//Ah! DAMN!//  
  
The young Specials leader retreated immediately, so fast that the moment of arousing bliss seemed almost a daydream to Zechs. Treize held a hand to his mouth protectively, eyes wide in surprise and hurt apology.  
  
//I hurt him--Treize, I'm sorry--I'm so clumsy at this, at anything involving love!// Desperately, Zechs tangled his hand in the back of Treize's belt before the man could pull away completely, restraining him from escaping the length of his arms, wishing a silent apology to the older man through his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," Treize whispered, those bright eyes almost damp with bewilderment. "I should have asked--"  
  
"No," Zechs answered softly, tugging Treize closer through his hold on the man's belt, and smiling sheepishly, his head dipping in shame. "/I/ should be sorry--I didn't mean to bite, but you startled me." //Please, it hurts to see you blame yourself, Treize. . . and I'm worse than a blind puppy, bumbling about when you should have someone who at least has a clue what they're doing, who can avoid this sort of mistake!//  
  
The older man let himself be pulled, the hurt in his eyes fading to a relieved, amazingly-soft smile, but instead of resuming the kiss, Treize began nuzzling the side of Zechs's neck ticklishly, nosing long hair out of his way. "Forgiven," he murmured so quietly that the word was more of a ripple of breath against the younger man's skin than sound.  
  
Zechs shuddered convulsively, smothering a helpless mewl threatening to bubble up in his throat, and clung tightly to Treize, half-closing his eyes, resting his head on Treize's shoulder and unknowingly giving the man greater access. //Oh yes. . . I want this. . . I want you here. . . there. . . there. . . Ah, everywhere. . . ! You feel closer to me than the air in this room, so close, so warm--why am I shivering? I don't understand. . . I don't /care/ if I don't understand!//  
  
The gentle, feathery touches against his throat paused after a minute, and Zechs sighed faintly, feeling deprived, though he didn't shift a muscle towards escaping the embrace. "I want to show you so much. . . but these things shouldn't be enjoyed in a place like this, in haste," the General complained bitterly. "You deserve better than this. . . more than this. . ."  
  
//This is more than I ever had, more than I ever experienced. . . more than I hoped for. And I want more of it, all you can give me, for as long as you're willing to give it.// But he wouldn't say it out loud, only tightening his grip about Treize's waist slightly and burying his face against the crook of the older man's neck. "I'm sorry I'm so clumsy. . . ," he whispered instead.  
  
Treize's hand gently stroked his long hair down his back, the other maneuvering so Zechs had to lift his head, pull back a bit, face Treize eye- to-eye, by cupping his chin. The kind smile, the glowing warmth in Treize's eyes, tugged a hesitant smile at the corners of the younger man's mouth. "It's all new to you, Zechs. . . It's nothing to apologize for-- unless you /meant/ to bite me," he teased.  
  
Zechs blinked, a strange thought appearing out of nowhere and bewildering him. //Was I /supposed/ to? Then why were you so hurt when I did?// "You never know with wild creatures, Treize," he countered uncertainly, though he meant it as a teasing warning.  
  
The older man's thumb caressed his jaw line, those bright dark-grey eyes playful. "I suppose then that I'll have to tame you to my hand. . ."  
  
//Tame me? I /thought/ I was domesticated already. . . or maybe just cultured. Nobody ever said only pearls and bacteria benefit from listening to opera. I wonder what "taming" entails,// Zechs mused, feeling another tickle of anticipation slide down his spine like a lost ice cube. "I think you already have me in hand. . . ," he pointed out slyly.  
  
Those bright eyes narrowed mischievously. "But hardly tamed," Treize purred. "I'm not sure you /can/ be, but it will be fun to try, I think. . . and the occasional bite simply means you're all the more fun of a challenge!"  
  
"So long as it's not your tongue?" Zechs chuckled. //Then you actually enjoy getting bitten? I don't think I'll dare that until I've some idea of how to bite without hurting you.//  
  
"So long as you don't bite anything /vital/," Treize corrected indulgently, laughing softly. He used his grip to gently tilt Zechs's head down, pressing forehead to forehead, still maintaining eye contact.  
  
"Your tongue's not vital? How else will you flirt with the Lieutenant?" the younger man snorted, smiling wryly. //Though if that gets her off your tail, I may do it more often.//  
  
"Zechs," Treize murmured softly, smile faltering a little, "I'm only flirting with her. I've no interest in anything more than playing with verbal insinuations with other people. Please believe me. . . I didn't mean to hurt you. You're all I want. . ."  
  
//I just wish I knew why, what you see in me. . . Love. It's so hard to understand. . . But I trust you. I said I trust you, and I'll keep my word, even if it hurts.// Zechs hugged Treize firmly, nodding slightly so as not to break their physical contact. "I trust you," he whispered. "I believe you. . . I'll try to behave next time. . ."  
  
A soft chuckle vibrated against his body. "You'd be less believable if you /didn't/ misbehave once in a while, I think."  
  
"Then next time, if I have to go to the bathroom, I'll just stamp on your foot with my hind leg, so if you /still/ don't get it, /you/ endure the embarrassment! Explaining a wet boot is harder than a bitten tongue, I imagine." Zechs dared an evil grin at Treize. //Not that I'd dare piddle on you in public like a badly-trained poodle. I'd probably leap out the window and hunt out the nearest tree first, at least!//  
  
That earned him a bit of a warning frown. "Don't you dare. . . Wet me, I mean, not step on my boot. And a bitten tongue," the man added with lofty dignity, "is only easy to explain so long as word doesn't get out concerning who was responsible for biting it!"  
  
"Ah, so Silver can still your silver tongue?" //That notion is just too ironic not to say out loud, Treize,// Zechs laughed to himself.  
  
"The cat certainly can by destroying my boots, it seems, if not my /good/ foot," Treize complained wryly, giving the younger man a reproachful look.  
  
//Then let me apologize. . .// "Maybe I can find a better way, then," Zechs murmured suggestively, pushing away from the counter with a shove of his hips and carefully engaging the older man's lips, starting another tonsil-teasing kiss.  
  
//I think I prefer this method. . . by far. . .//  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
To be continued.  
  
Yes, kisses in the bathroom. Heck a man (and his cat) must have their privacy. . . ;)  
  
Yes, the Gundam pilots are were-cats, too. But they haven't hit Earth yet. As for the other two. . . who said those who escaped are the only survivors? ;) Hint hint. But they, too, won't appear until Gundams come to Earth. For now, Zechs and Treize have other, simpler problems. These days will seem like drizzle compared to the dangerous storm to come! 


	7. My Faith Is Falling Away

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
Chapter 7--My Faith Is Falling Away  
  
**The hunt concludes. But who can you trust?**  
  
AC 192, dinner time. . .  
  
Zechs lounged on the floor, wondering just what this sticky surface was probably doing to his fur. //I can just see it slowly adhering to me. . . Doesn't anyone ever /clean/ the mess hall? What are the janitors doing if this is this filthy?!?// The new Specials recruit fought the urge to hunt said janitors down. . . or burst into wailing tears of helpless disgust.  
  
//And it's all my own fault. This was /my/ idea.//  
  
Glancing up at Treize, so smugly seated on the aluminum bench beside him and murmuring across the table to Lieutenant Une, Zechs sighed softly to himself.  
  
//I never should have suggested plopping somewhere public to pick up a scent trail. . . There's got to be better ideas. Like walking over all the halls and corridors. . . or searching every room on the base. . . or heck, demanding a full personnel inspection of the base in full regalia for me to check over!//  
  
His attention shifted from his silent complaints back to his two human companions when he caught Lieutenant Une asking in a quick whisper, "Any luck yet. . . ?"  
  
//No. . . ,// he growled softly to himself in reply, closing his eyes. //While I agree we probably wouldn't be able to do this without suspicion if she wasn't in on it and here to pass time talking to him. . . I wish it were me talking to Treize right now. . . Or that I could at least look out the damn window behind Une. . .//  
  
"No," Treize breathed in quiet response, eyeing the red wine swirling in his glass.  
  
//And while you're making hopeless wishes, why not dream of filet minion, while you're at it, Zechs?// the cat scolded himself. //Get out of this whining and self-pity. Use your brain. It's not /all/ grey mush, after all! The target did not come to lunch. . . Where can you pick up the trail, hmm? Where can you cross his scent reliably, often?//  
  
A bell toned over the speakers in every room of the base, announcing a change in shifts. As expected, the floor began to vibrate beneath Zechs from the thundering of many feet, foretelling a stampede of starving soldiers to come.  
  
//Uh-oh.//  
  
Icy blue cat-eyes snapped open, and hastily Zechs surged to his feet, ducking under the table so fast he nearly hauled the chain completely out of Treize's hand, though he did unbalance the man enough to spill his wine.  
  
Treize cursed. "What the--? Silver?"  
  
Squeezing between Treize's knees and feeling Une jerk as his fur tickled her legs in passing, Zechs squirmed about to find comfortable seating between them without hitting his head, making sure his tail stayed /very/ close.  
  
Shortly, Treize's worried face peered under the bland white table-cloth.  
  
Eyeing Treize firmly, Zechs patted a paw meaningfully on his fluffy tail, watching enlightenment dawn in the young General's eyes. //I refuse to get stepped on by idiots!// he stated silently, head high.  
  
Treize chuckled softly, and let the cloth flop back down. Zechs could hear him sharing the joke with Une, and her quiet laugh. . .  
  
And sighed softly again, resting his head on Treize's lap.  
  
//This is going to be a /long/ hunt unless you think up something better, Marquise. . .//  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Zechs's fur ruffled. Some instinct kicked into high gear, though he couldn't pinpoint what set it off--a scent, a sound, the way someone walked? Probably the first, something subtle, but that triggered warnings trained into his very soul. . . Something familiar, and coupled with fear, excitement, anticipation--or a mix of all three?  
  
//Danger. . .// Close by, too. Icy eyes narrowed, and Zechs moved his head off Treize's lap, ducking his head to peer under the edge of the table- cloth, warily watching passers-by.  
  
//Which one. . . ?// he asked silently of his instincts.  
  
Not yet. . . Not that. . . But someone, nearby. . .  
  
The waist of an ordinary soldier drew even with his head, stopping, obscuring his vision by standing next to Treize's seat. "Ma'am? Sir? Could I get you anything?" the young fellow questioned eagerly.  
  
//Yes you can: get out of my--// Zechs began, teeth drawing back for a vocal snarl--  
  
But that same instinct froze him, and his focus narrowed sharply in instant response on this man.  
  
//This one.// He didn't question his senses' information, nor did the muscles at his command, tensing expectantly for the chase and the kill! //This is the one--fear and excitement?!//  
  
"I think I'll have the steak, and perhaps a refill of wine, same year," Treize was smoothly answering.  
  
"I'll have the same." Une.  
  
"Yes Sir, Ma'am. . ." Then the soldier was gone, back into the press of hungry soldiers.  
  
//How do I signal Treize? I can't even sit on his leg here! Damn this! Something's up!// But he knew--the scents fit a plan that made perfect sense.  
  
They would kill Treize, here, in public, where too many suspects would hide them in anonymity. A blade in the ribs when a large group of other soldiers passed, and nobody would know where the blade came from. It would be found hours later, wiped clean and dumped where it could incriminate someone who had nothing to do with the crime. . .  
  
And the real assassins would never be found.  
  
//Not if I can help it!//  
  
Zechs braced himself, mind working feverishly, claws pricking from their sheathes, one paw sneaking up under the edge of the table-cloth to grip the ridges of the aluminum bench.  
  
//This is /my/ prey. . . //  
  
Silver could be patient when he needed to be.  
  
The soldier returned with the plates, setting Une's down first, then maneuvering to Treize's side, not quite directly ahead of Zechs, to set down the General's plate. . .  
  
//Hold. . . hold. . .//  
  
Zechs could hear an appropriate-sized mass of anonymity drawing near with heavy boots--  
  
--A flash of steel flicking open with the faintest of clicks, a switchblade- -  
  
--Something silent and silver moved at the same instant!  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Hearing a sharp gasp of agony, Treize sucked in his own breath in sudden pain, leaning first forward to avoid getting accidentally bumped by a band of passing lummoxes, a move made awkward from sudden movement beside his leg, then jerking his body away from the sharp prick against his ribs, fixing a glare at--  
  
Blood and silver. . .  
  
Blood and /Silver/!  
  
//Oh my God!//  
  
The young soldier standing behind him was also staring down at the same thing, only his expression bore a wealth of horror and agony.  
  
No surprise in that reaction from the man. The soldier bore a switchblade in hand, with a thin blade whose mark would barely be found by an autopsy, let alone leave noticeable marks in cloth. The blade itself had caused that pricking against Treize's side--but it hadn't gone further than to draw a faint ribbon of blood, arrested in mid-attack as it was:  
  
Powerful jaws had clamped down with crushing, tearing force on the man's wrist, fangs puncturing deep into flesh and freeing a flood of sticky blood, clamping so hard into bone that it threatened to shatter the soldier's arm.  
  
For an instant, both Treize and the soldier stared at the man's mutilated arm with equal levels of shock.  
  
Silver's icy eyes stared back with a hatred that knew no equal even in insane fallen angels, silently threatening that even the depths of Hell could not save this wanna-be assassin!  
  
//Holy--!//  
  
"Your Excellency?" Lieutenant Une asked in concern from across the table, unable to see the arm or blade just under the edge from her side.  
  
Her voice broke the spell. The switchblade clattered to the aluminum bench.  
  
Surging to his feet, Treize staggered on his bad leg, arm moving for his gun--  
  
Too slowly. The injured assassin, being at the holster's side of the General, grabbed it first with his good hand, ripping it from Treize's belt, and slammed the butt into Silver's head with a cry of intertwined pain and rage and panic.  
  
"Silver!" Treize shouted, knocked off balance by the wrench on his belt and vibrating impact of a heavy body on the aluminum furniture, and sitting down heavily again, though farther away from his attacker, arms lifting in self-defense. //Where the hell did this guy come from?!? Why?!?//  
  
An enraged snarl answered him.  
  
The assassin grimaced, and whirled, taking to his heels down the aisle between tables, clutching his blood-soaked arm to his chest, gun still in hand.  
  
Next thing Treize knew, the bench slammed over, bowled over by a hundred and seventy pounds of feline fury that tore after the man like a heat- seeking missile and hissing through the air with equal single-minded purpose!  
  
"Your Excellency!" Une cried in alarm, leaping over to his side. "STOP THAT MAN!" she bellowed at the rest of the mess hall.  
  
//Zechs! He'll shoot you!!!// "Silver, he has a gun!!!"  
  
Chaos broke out even as Une grabbed him by the forearm and hauled him out of the aisle to the safety underneath the table, taking a crouching stance over him and drawing her own gun protectively.  
  
Treize struggled to get his feet back under his body. //I have to see-- there's more than one to this conspiracy, so where is this man's partner?!? Damn it--Zechs is in danger!//  
  
But soldiers were milling about in confusion and uproar, and Lieutenant Une blocked Treize's only exit from the confines of typical aluminum cafeteria furniture. When he moved to emerge, she held up a warning hand.  
  
"Sir, better if you stay low until this is sorted out," she suggested firmly, keeping herself crouched low probably on the same principle. "We can't get past the crush of people now anyway."  
  
"Silver--!" Treize protested, pulling up his good leg into a semi-kneeling position. "They'll shoot--"  
  
"'They'?" Une asked incredulously, worry filling her eyes in a sudden flood. "I thought we were after only one!"  
  
//Now the cat's out of the bag. . . Damn this, I don't care! Zechs needs-- //  
  
Gunfire at the far end of the mess hall interrupted that train of thought.  
  
//ZECHS!!!//  
  
At least part of Treize's mind continued to work. "SILVER!!!"  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The cat had surged after his target with such speed as would make a bird of prey proud. Every lunge was fluid grace, eating the distance like a starving wolf, gaining ground, sliding around the obstacles of moving men and benches like a fish.  
  
//You. Die!//  
  
Something made the injured soldier glance over his shoulder--and the man's face paled visibly in sheer terror at the sight that met him. He stumbled on a few steps further, then whirled, bringing gun to bear even as the cat leapt with deadly claws--  
  
//Got you!!!//  
  
Luck was on the soldier's side--he stumbled backwards, falling back even as he swung about, and those claws ripped into his good arm as the gun slammed into Zechs's shoulder, sending the cat flying sideways into a table with a crash.  
  
//Ah!//  
  
China, food, and aluminum table gave way, but so did a handful of rib- bones: they snapped audibly, a wet cracking like sodden branches, under the heavy impact.  
  
Struggling back to his feet, the soldier sobbed in pain, gun falling from weakened fingers. "My God--my arms! My arms. . . !" he moaned, half- staggering towards the nearest door, trailing blood helplessly.  
  
//Hurt--hurts--to hell with pain, I'm MAD!!!// Scrambling breathlessly, Zechs clawed his way back to his feet, oblivious to the food and shattered china dusting his fur, the deep marks his claws were screeching into the metal, or the pain punctuating every breath like an exclamation-point. Bloody rage settled over his eyes, and he lunged for the staggering soldier- -his prey!  
  
He sensed the movement more than caught it at the periphery of his vision-- just before he heard the sharp retort of a gun firing--  
  
But that was enough warning for such as he.  
  
Zechs leapt lithely sideways, felt slivers of concrete prick through the thick fur of his front paws as bullets just missed him, ricocheting off the floor and pinging into the aluminum behind him.  
  
//Another one! /The/ other one?// Sharp ice-blue eyes whirled to this new target even as he anticipated another shot and leapt behind an overturned bench.  
  
//No matter--the other can be caught later, but this needs to be dealt with NOW!//  
  
A glimpse was all Silver needed to pinpoint the shooter's location, then he was surging as fast as his paws could go behind the partial protection of the bench, to duck under a table and vanish from the man's view.  
  
"SILVER!!!" Treize hollered in the panic following those shots.  
  
//Not now Treize--that probably brought his attention to you!// Slipping from table to table, between running soldiers and scrambling civilian staff, trying to keep to cover, he began circling towards this new target as quickly as he could. //I hope Lieutenant Une is a good shot. . .//  
  
By now, though, a fair number of soldiers and civilians had fled, though others had pulled guns and seemed to have no idea what they should be doing with them.  
  
//Idiots! Better if you just get out of the way!// But they were the least of his concerns. . .  
  
Instinct growled that this sound shooter had a hunt in mind. Unfinished business to take care of. Who cares about a cat when someone who could speak has to be silenced swiftly? It takes a hunter to know one. It takes a hunter to guess another hunter's plan. . .  
  
//I have to get into place in time!//  
  
It takes a hunter to kill one.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Treize glanced about at the near-empty mess hall around them, the tumbled aluminum tables and benches, the trampled food, dishes, and food trays on the concrete floor. //Damn it, all I have on me is my decorative sword-- that won't do anything against a gunman! Silver--Zechs--be alright, be safe!//  
  
The shooting had stopped. . . and it didn't sound as if the gunman had died this time--no shrieks or growls.  
  
//Zechs. . .// Treize pleaded softly to himself, worried. //I'll never forgive myself if I've brought you here to your death.//  
  
Lieutenant Une straightened after a few moments, warily scanning about the carnage with gun at ready. "It seems clear now, Sir," she murmured.  
  
//I refuse to hide any longer, then!// Gripping the edge of the table, Treize pulled himself to his feet, clicking cane-tip to concrete to ease his aching leg. Wild maneuvers like that reminded his body that it had /not/ finished healing yet, and it sent him sharp, painful memos to return that fact to his attention. //Shit, shit, and more shit! My doctor will kill me if I ripped the ligaments of my knee and ankle yet /again/. . . I need to be able to move right now, and my leg's even worse! What /else/ can go wrong?//  
  
Footsteps approached, as if in answer, and both he and Lieutenant Une turned to see Lieutenant Shimmel carefully picking his way through the mess on the floor, eyes scanning warily around as he drew closer, his gun bared in his hand. "Lieutenant Une? Your Excellency! You're alright! I think the man fled outside--he's left a trail of blood. . . ," he announced with relief.  
  
Treize ran a grimy hand through his hair to brush a couple stray hairs out of his eyes, sagging with relief against both his cane and the table he'd just used to lever to his feet. //Shimmel. Thank God! A friendly face in this place!// "Someone is after him?" he inquired grimly. //Perhaps Zechs. . . ?//  
  
His Uncle's former aide drew even with the pair of them, his very presence reassuring them both. Une put the safety back on her gun and returned it to the holster at her side, gazing after the last of the departing soldiers with cold eyes. . .  
  
"Several soldiers have probably run him down as we speak. As I said, he was bleeding rather heavily--I just missed him at the door," Shimmel admitted a touch sheepishly. Pausing, he, too, scanned about the mess hall, though there was something in his eyes. . .  
  
Something icy in his eyes. . . which seemed to be looking for something. . .  
  
//Where is Zechs?// "And Silver? Have you seen him?" Treize added, feeling a twitch between his shoulderblades. //Something. . . is not right. I can feel it, but I can't pinpoint it. . . !//  
  
Shimmel sounded distracted, but murmured, "I saw your cat chasing the man, but after that? No. . ."  
  
Une eyed Treize curiously a moment, before her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She, too, must have picked up that strange feeling. . .  
  
//Like something is stalking you. . . ,// Treize decided with a slight shudder. //And. . . is Shimmel mixed up in this?// "Lieutenant Shimmel. . . ," he began.  
  
The man's gun lifted as if in slow motion, barrel pointed for the young Specials General's heart. "Yes," the man stated coolly. "It's time to clean up, General. Before that damn cat of yours makes a nuisance of itself again."  
  
//Zechs! He must have shot--!// Deep blue eyes stared steadily at the gun leveled at his chest, and Treize let his breath out in a drawn sigh, trying to steady his whirling emotions--rage, fear, a depthless sorrow. . . //He killed Zechs!//  
  
//He's going to kill /me/. . .//  
  
"One twitch and he's dead, Une!" Shimmel snapped.  
  
Treize, jerked from his shock, glanced at the young lady standing only ten feet away, and smiled sadly at the sight of her practically growling in frustrated helplessness. //He will kill her, too, after he's certain I'm dead.//  
  
"Your gun--two fingers and slide it on the floor over there." Shimmel's free hand gestured down a debris-filled isle.  
  
With a soundless snarl, Lieutenant Une slowly obeyed, taking her gun from the holster with only two fingers, and tossing it so it skittered into the debris of interrupted dinner.  
  
"Why?" Treize whispered, watching the gun vanish from sight--and probably any hope of easy recovery--amid the ruined food and shattered china. //I want to know that much before I die. . . Before I join my Uncle, my parents. . . Zechs. . .//  
  
Shimmel smiled without humor, a death's head grin, eyes heartlessly cold. "They--" a hand indicated others in the conspiracy "--think this is to shut up silly ideas of peace with the colonies. But you and I know better, Treize. . . and soon just I will know. I'm preventing a second war. . ."  
  
Ice filled Treize's stomach--he didn't catch Lieutenant Une's bewildered expression to the side. //He's against Uncle's plan! The /traitor/!!! He knew--he knew every detail, he helped plan all this /with/ Uncle Catalonia! Who has he told? How many others know?!?// "The Alliance. . . ?" he breathed, wondering. . .  
  
Catalonia's former aide smirked. "I haven't babbled around, Treize. Do you think I'm stupid? Only one knows, but don't you see that others already are wary towards the Specials? It would never have worked. . . A silly dream of conquest through revolution. And without you, it's nothing more than a dream. . ." The smirk shifted into a full triumphant smile. "Goodbye, Your Excellency!"  
  
A snarl interrupted before Shimmel's lips could close on that final word.  
  
//Zechs!!!// It was a mental cry of relief and fear for his friend. . .  
  
Treize stared as in slow motion, the soldier's brown eyes widened in surprise and fear, watched as the man whirled completely around to face the attack, lifting the barrel of the gun slightly and raising his other arm defensively. . . The young General gasped as he glimpsed a silvery blur soaring through the air with talons unsheathed and bloody fangs bared to tear and rend, heavy paws thudding into Shimmel's chest with the punishing power of a boxer's KO shot.  
  
The gun went off before the pair hit the ground.  
  
"Silver--!" Treize breathed, lunging for them, abandoning his cane to clatter to the floor. //Did he--? Is he--? Damn it, Zechs, are you suicidal?!?//  
  
Une was faster--she caught two fistfuls of silvery-pale mane and hauled at the cat, trying to lift him off the gunman--then froze, making a sickened noise, face blanching.  
  
Treize took one look and grimaced, suddenly glad he hadn't started eating yet. //Zechs. . . Now I understand why you so hate to kill. . . and why you think of yourself as a monster.//  
  
Silver's jaws were still closed about the man's throat, or rather, what remained of Shimmel's throat after sharp incisor teeth had done their work. Blood soaked the pair--and began soaking the ground by Treize's and Une's knees--in a steady flow. His head raised by Une's grip--he brought the man's throat up in chunks with her pull--enraged ice-blue eyes claimed the kill with the ferocity of a successful hunter of the mountains, glaring at both humans in warning.  
  
"Silver. . . ," Treize whispered, touching a hand to that bloody ruff. "It's over--you killed him. . . Let go." //Let go, Zechs. . . Please. . . I need to know if you're hurt--I need /you/! Remember your humanity. . . please. Before your instincts take you further. . . I don't know if I can reach you if you let them take control.//  
  
//I don't want to lose you, Zechs. I just found you!//  
  
Fiery eyes stared into his. . . Lovely ice-blue eyes, eyes whose ferocity hurt him, whose anger frightened him, whose pain worried him. . .  
  
"My Silver. . ."  
  
Those fiery eyes cooled slowly, and jaws opened slowly, letting the mangled head thud to the concrete with a sickening impact. Levering up to bloodied paws, Silver stepped off the nearly decapitated carcass, and staggered slightly, panting heavily through blood-covered jaws.  
  
Now Treize could see better-and finally find where that last bullet had gone:  
  
//Oh no. . . Dorothy will kill me when we get back--but thank God, it doesn't look fatal!//  
  
Through Zechs's ribs. Just the edge, perhaps just clipping the edge of a lung, the entrance and exit holes only a couple inches apart and more ends of a furrow than holes in the thick fur. But it was bleeding thickly, and the cat was breathing shallowly, frequently, excessively out of breath. No telling if the lung had been hit, not with Shimmel's and the other assassin's blood thick in his jaws and matting the rest of his fur. Already, however, Silver was a little unsteady on his feet, worn out, battered, and losing blood. . .  
  
//Damn, damn, damn. . . Hang on, Zechs.// Treize whipped out his trusty Swiss Army knife and began snapping the buttons off his uniform jacket in a hurry. He caught a glimpse of Une salvaging Shimmel's radio even as he began cutting strips off the jacket to bind Silver's injuries.  
  
"This is Lieutenant Une. Assassin down in the mess hall. We need a medic-- do any on this damn base have any skill with animals?!? Just get someone down here, pronto! And why the hell aren't any of you idiot MPs in here?!? . . . Yes, I see--Shimmel told you to guard outside. Just get your asses in here /now/, or I'll have the lot of you cited for incompetence!"  
  
Smiling a little at the overheard exchange, Treize wrapped layer after layer of thick blue cloth around Silver's ribs, as the cat sat patiently, eyes closed. //I think Une will be /my/ aide, as soon as I can get the right papers for her transfer. . .//  
  
The cat's massive head turned briefly, interrupting Treize's work. . . to give the young General's bandage-filled hand a sandpapery lick, icy eyes almost apologetic as they gazed into his own. . .  
  
"I was worried about you, Silver," Treize murmured softly, taking a moment to scratch behind a furry ear with his free hand. //There's so much more I want to say. . . but can't, not with Une here to overhear. Later. . . Sometime later. . .// Smiling wryly, he added, "I /would/ say never to try such an idiot stunt again. . . but you probably won't have to. Dorothy's going to /kill/ me for letting you get hurt too now!"  
  
Silver simply. . . cat-smiled. And snorted in amusement, seeming to pretend that any pain was merely a figment of an overly-determined imagination.  
  
Groaning softly under his breath, Treize resumed wrapping. //Oh God, that's right. . . Two of us invalided now, and under *Shudder!* Dorothy's supervision!// "Between me wrenching my leg yet /again/, and you busting up your ribs. . . she's never going to let us leave the house again, Silver!" he pointed out unhappily.  
  
The cat sighed, rolling icy eyes.  
  
Treize tied off a last layer of bandaging, relieved to see that the outermost layer was not yet bloody. //Good, the bleeding is slowing. I must have bound it with enough pressure to help. . .//  
  
Someone was. . . laughing?  
  
//It's /not/ funny! I've had enough mothering from Dorothy already!//  
  
Treize rounded on a laughing Lieutenant Une sharply, and lifted an admonishing finger. "Keep that up, Lieutenant Une, and I'll whack your foot with my cane so you can /join/ our upcoming misery!" he threatened half-heartedly.  
  
Une visibly struggled to compose her face--but wasn't terribly successful-- as she lifted her hand in a sharp salute and barked, "Yes Sir, Your Excellency Sir!"  
  
And promptly resumed laughing at him.  
  
Treize covered his face with a hand and sighed. //Why /me/? My aide laughs at me, my niece bosses me--probably the /top/ general of the world-- around like a younger brother, . . . and my lover is a huge cat who threatens to piddle on my leg. And I haven't even /started/ commanding the Specials yet! And speaking of cats piddling. . .//  
  
Clattering boots announced the arrival of the MPs finally, as neatly- uniformed soldiers ran up to the pair.  
  
//Good! I was about to get /really/ pissed myself. . . !//  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
To be continued.  
  
Due to Fanfiction.net's policies, this story will be continuing at Rogue11's website soon, due to the evolving relationship of 13x6 and violence. What can I say? Not much option. But hey, she puts up other stories that can't continue on Fanfic.net, too, and if you have one you'd like to re-house, contact her or check out her site at: http://www.gundam-wing-universe.net/ 


	8. I'm Not That Sure Anymore

---Shades Of Grey---  
  
Chapter 8--I'm Not That Sure Anymore  
  
**This conspiracy is over. . . for now. But it's clear His Excellency has some enemies to be wary of in the Alliance. Someone knows the plan. . . Someone else knows Zechs's secret, though! How do you know who to trust, in the face of such danger? Dare you trust anyone? Do you even have a choice?**  
  
AC 192, evening/night. . .  
  
"There is fine enough--now get out," Treize commanded sharply, kneeling beside the stretcher on the carpet of the sitting room of his quarters, eyes unable to leave the occupant.  
  
"But Sir--you'll need help--" Lieutenant Une protested behind him.  
  
//Zechs, you're so quiet. You must be in a lot of pain. . .// Angry, Treize wrenched his gaze from his feline friend and glared at Une over his shoulder. "I said get out. Now. I will deal with him," he growled defensively.  
  
"The medic should be here shortly, Your Excellency. . . It looks like Silver needs stitches, and you need to be seen, too," she reasoned quietly.  
  
"I gave an order, Lieutenant--carry it out!" he snapped back scathingly. But his mind whirled along lines similar to her words. //Zechs /does/ need stitches--he's still bleeding a lot. And he's breathing too fast, he's not moving much. . . But how can I let a medic deal with him in this form? If he were human, they could help him more--give him blood, something. . . !//  
  
Icy eyes opened and met his even as Une retreated, closing the suite's main door behind herself. They were tired, pained, but patient, calm. . . reassuring. . . sad, in a tragic kind of way.  
  
"Zechs," Treize whispered, hand straying to smooth those alert ears before reaching to undo the collar, letting it clatter to a crumple on the carpet. The chain was forgotten somewhere in the mess of the mess hall, and the least of his concerns. //I can't treat him like this. I don't know what to do with an injured cat!// "Change, please. I don't know how to help you like this. . ."  
  
Those blue eyes stared back at him, worried. . . frightened?  
  
Treize stroked those ears gently, meeting that unblinking gaze. "Do it. Please. . . ," he pleaded softly.  
  
Zechs nodded faintly, closing his eyes. . . His claws extended in pain as the change rippled through his body like a liquid shudder sliding down his spine. Fur sank away beneath pale blood-soaked skin, limbs straightened from inhuman positions. . . To Treize's eyes, however, it was a discomforting sight, a painful process from the way Zechs arched his spine and curled his fingers into the cloth of the stretcher beneath him until the shudder passed--an instant in time, but one that hurt to watch.  
  
//That scientist was right--it hurts them to change. But by God, he doesn't need more pain right now,// Treize mused, feeling helpless yet wishing he could do something to make it easier. //One thing at a time,// he admonished himself, as Zechs lay panting under his hand, face obscured by bloody bangs. //One thing at a time--the injuries first.//  
  
He only had that instant for musing. The next thing he knew, Zechs had flung himself sideways to his knees, arms wrapping around the nearby decorative garbage can to drag it close, and shoved his face into it. . . retching for all he was worth, his long hair falling around him like a the bloody veil of a massacred bride.  
  
"Zechs!" Treize breathed in horror, lurching to his side. //Good God, is he. . .? This can't be good!// With a sweep of one hand, he collected that long pale hair out of the way, the other supporting the younger man about the shoulders, taking some of his weight from shaking arms. "Hold on. . . Try and relax," he suggested lamely.  
  
Those shoulders were shaking in his hands, those cat-eyes closed. . . but after that sudden nausea, Zechs had the respite to gasp a few breaths. "Can't. . . Can still taste. . . taste. . ." With a faint shake of his head, he ducked again to surrender a bit more of his lunch to the metal can's depths.  
  
//Blood--he can still taste their blood in his mouth! I'm sorry, Zechs. . . God, I'm sorry. . .// All Treize could do was apologize, and hold that shaking body against his side, bracing him up against bouts of nausea. "I'm sorry, Zechs. . . I should have guessed--this shouldn't have happened- -you shouldn't have had to--"  
  
"Only. . . the only way," Zechs whispered, panting for breath now that this second bout was over. "Guess. . . Guess I really am. . . a monster now. . ."  
  
"Don't say that! Don't say that. . . ," Treize snapped, before muffling his face against the back of the shoulder nearest him, ignoring the metallic scent of blood in favor of the close contact. //That's right--he never killed anyone like this before, not ripping their throat out. . . But he's NOT a monster--he's NOT!// "Don't believe that. . ."  
  
"Then why. . . why do I feel so foul?" Zechs whispered, shaking in Treize's supportive hold. "So much blood. . . everywhere. . . Good God. . . What have I done, Treize?" It sounded almost like the question of a horrified child to Treize's ears, and cut into his heart painfully. But then he was forced to brush that plaintive question aside as Zechs began heaving again, retching until the older man began to wonder if he was about to bring up more than just stomach contents, but stomach itself in the bargain.  
  
//I should have realized he'd have to kill that way. . . God, no wonder he never wanted to do it for those scientists!// Feeling helpless, the young Oz Specials leader could only gently rock his companion from side to side until the heaving stopped, the soothing motion oddly giving himself a faint bit of comfort as well. Softly, reassuringly, he murmured, "Hush. . . Shhh. . . It's over. . . We'll get you cleaned up and stitched up and go home."  
  
/That/ made the younger man stiffen and lift his head abruptly, still panting from his last bout of sickness, panic in his icy eyes. "No. . . !" he breathed. "One more--the planter! He wasn't there, Treize! Shimmel didn't plant those shells!"  
  
Grimacing, Treize reached blindly behind himself for the remains of his uniform jacket where it lay on the stretcher, taking a corner to wipe at the blonde's mouth. //Hell. It would be just our luck that one got away! But we can't do anything about it right now. . .// "We'll worry about him later," the new Specials Commander decided firmly. "Lieutenant Une can go chase some leads and give us some breathing space."  
  
The younger man flushed at getting his mouth wiped like a sloppy child at dinner, eyes flicking closed at the touch of the ruined wool. Faint tremors still shook his frame, but those panting breaths were easing off a bit.  
  
The stained blue cloth wasn't meeting Treize's demands by cleaning away the drying blood fast or thoroughly enough. //Best get him cleaned quick--it will certainly lessen the shock he's going through--but this won't cut it. Soapy water, then, and kiss those lovely towels goodbye--they're not going to survive this.// Thoughtfully, he appraised Zechs a moment, uncertain. . . //There's no way I can drag him into the bathroom, though. Even if my leg were whole, it would be difficult--he's bigger than me now. Ah well-- if you can't get the man to the bathroom, get the bathroom to the man, eh?//  
  
"Can you hold up on your own for a moment?" Treize asked worriedly. "I need to get a few things."  
  
A slow nod answered him, though the younger man didn't look up. A bloodied hand reached up to hold long hair out of the way and set Treize free.  
  
//I'd best hurry.// "I'll be back in a moment," the young General murmured reassuringly, before scrambling for cane and feet, limping quickly through the bedroom to the bath.  
  
A little hunting under the sink rewarded Treize with a bucket, and a swing of his arms cleared the towel-rack in an instant. A squirt of liquid hand- soap later, he had the whole combination foaming under the tub faucet and two dry towels over his arm. Silently, he wished the bucket would fill faster. //This should do it. . . God, it's taking too long. Is he still alright out there? I don't want him bleeding to death. Relax, Treize-- can't be that bad. . . But--God!--I'm no doctor.//  
  
When he emerged from the bedroom, Treize immediately saw Zechs still sitting on his knees by the garbage can, head hanging heavily over braced and shaking arms, stained hair a swirl over one shoulder. Blue eyes were closed, every breath carefully concentrated on, controlled.  
  
//He's trying not to be sick,// Treize mused grimly. "I'm back," he murmured gently, setting the bucket down before carefully going to his knees beside the injured man. "Zechs? Maybe you should lie down again. . ." //But where? That stretcher's a mess already.//  
  
The main door clicked open suddenly, and before either could turn, two people entered, closing it quietly behind themselves--  
  
Zechs hissed softly, every muscle tensing, and glared over his shoulder, teeth bared in an unhealthy rage.  
  
Treize jumped, whirling into a half-sitting position, grabbing his cane with intent to use it. //Shit! They've seen--!//  
  
"Your Excellency, I've my intern Sally with me to. . . Oh." The elderly, almost frail-looking man who had entered first trailed off, blinking behind his spectacles like an owl, dropping his black bag at his feet as if suddenly it was too heavy for his hand.  
  
"Sally", just a pace behind him, stood a head taller with her blonde hair in twists, and eyes wide to stare, a hand going to her mouth in surprise.  
  
Even as Treize watched, a familiar blur began to make Zechs's long bangs shiver--  
  
"NO!"  
  
Treize leapt at the younger man, catching Zechs about one shoulder and neck, flattening that longer body in a tackle before he could start his deadly leap.  
  
The injured man cried out in pain as the head of the Specials flattened him to the ground beneath his considerable weight, stopping the change, and went limp, gasping for breath. But blue eyes glared murderously at the two who had just entered, a growl thrumming his throat audibly, long fingers digging deep into the carpet. One look at him gave the two medical professionals no doubt that only Treize was keeping him from attacking.  
  
"Let me--let me--We can't--!" Zechs's words were almost a wail of frustration through a haze of pain.  
  
"No! No. Listen to me--you can't, you shouldn't," Treize whispered urgently, not relaxing his hold. //There have been enough deaths today! I know you're afraid, Zechs, but I can't let you kill them, too! Listen to me, please. . .//  
  
"S-sir?" the elderly man asked hesitantly, clearing his throat bravely, as Sally backed a step towards the door silently. "Perhaps we should come at a better time?"  
  
Treize almost wanted to slap the man for such a suggestion at this time--he felt Zechs surge beneath him up onto his arms, snarling, and marveled at what adrenaline did to the injured man he was trying to hold down.  
  
"You're--you're the doctor, right?" the young General demanded to know urgently. //Damn it, if they try to leave /now/, he's desperate enough to throw me off and hunt them!//  
  
"Ah, yes?" the elder admitted, uncertain.  
  
"Dr. Hollender," Sally supplied carefully, freezing as baleful icy eyes shifted to her.  
  
Her mentor nodded, adding warily, "I was called here because of. . . a feline, I was told. . . but. . ."  
  
The pair of medical professionals flushed hotly.  
  
//They think we're doing something kinky. . .?// Treize could only stare in surprise. But then anger dug its claws in. //How /dare/ they think I would hurt any lover of mine like this! There's blood /everywhere/!//  
  
Zechs collapsed beneath him again, the rush of adrenaline spending itself out finally, his breath wheezing painfully, tears escaping to streak the blood on his cheeks. Those blue eyes closed with a breathless moan.  
  
//Damn--my weight's too much for him, must be hurting him. . .// That realization flushed the anger from his system, letting worry flow in to replace it. Scrambling up to his hands and knees to sit at the younger man's side, Treize snapped at the doctor, "He /is/ the feline. Damn it, don't just stand there--help me!"  
  
"He's the cat?" Sally repeated quietly, expression completely lost in confusion.  
  
Frowning slightly, the elderly doctor stooped to snag his black bag, then moved closer to join Treize on the carpet. "Where exactly--?"  
  
//Good. At least now we're getting somewhere.// "Down here--the bandages," Treize pointed out quickly. "Most of the blood isn't his."  
  
"Ah." With that, Dr. Hollender snapped open his case and began pulling on gloves before reaching for a knife. "Sally, get over here and help clean him up."  
  
She blinked, then nodded, obviously gathering her courage before joining them.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He was embarrassed and afraid. He couldn't help it--he was very afraid, and knew it probably showed in the way he shook, the way he jumped at the slightest touch.  
  
//What if they try blackmail? What if they want to test me? I can't go back--I WON'T go back!!!//  
  
Zechs could feel the bandages being sawed through, the trickle of blood running down his side at the release of that pressure, the sting of air and antiseptic. He tried to hold still, tried to ignore the pain. . . but the pain made him try to crawl away anyway.  
  
Then Treize was at his head, a wet towel in hand, trying to clean the blood from his face and hair, murmuring soothingly. "Easy, easy--they're only trying to help."  
  
//I know--I'm trying to remember that--but it hurts! And I'm so afraid. . .// Zechs yowled, clawing at the carpet with his fingers as something was poured onto the wound--it BURNED! Oh, God, and it didn't stop when they stopped pouring that stuff! He writhed desperately, practically sobbing. It felt like acid, eating away at the wound!  
  
"Can't you give him anything for the pain?" the Oz General bellowed over his shoulder at the doctor angrily.  
  
"Only if I'd some sort of medical background to go on," the man replied with a sigh. "You tell me--a dose for a cat, or for a man?"  
  
"There's a difference?" Treize asked, surprised and sarcastic.  
  
"Animals have a lower tolerance for sedatives," Dr. Hollender answered with a firm nod. "And quite often the anesthetic can kill them. I would rather not risk it in this case. . . So, unfortunately, this will hurt."  
  
"At least the shot skipped off his ribs. We don't have to do any serious surgery, only sew it up," Sally added quietly.  
  
Zechs moaned at the idea. //Ohhhhh no! I'm /not/ letting either of you perform surgery on me! This is only a minor wound! I'd hate to think what a serous one would feel like under your care! They were never this bad at the facility. . . though they /did/ have sedatives for us.//  
  
"Shhh. . . ," Treize whispered, wiping the damp towel over his hair and down his back. "They're almost done."  
  
Something covered his legs, a soft fall of warm cloth. "There. . . Your Excellency Sir?" Sally tossed something over Zechs's head.  
  
Scooping it out of the air, Treize frowned back at the girl.  
  
"To keep him warm. Half his shivering is shock, and for that he needs to be warm," she answered the unasked question.  
  
"Right." With that, warm cloth covered his shoulders. Zechs could feel Treize's hands gently stroking his long hair out over it, and closed his eyes, resting his head on his arms, trying to focus on the soothing touch.  
  
//Keep doing that. . . please. When you're touching me, I can drive out the fear, fight the pain. . .//  
  
"Sir? If I could ask a question. . . ?" Dr. Hollender began, snipping something.  
  
//Just tell yourself that's not a needle likely in his hand, Zechs. And that there is no stench of blood in the air. Pretend Treize is just toying with your hair, like last night. . .// Gentle rubbing tugged at the lengths, working out the mostly-dried blood, an amazingly comforting feeling, rather like someone else washing it with the most gentle of care. . .  
  
"Yes?" Treize finally murmured.  
  
A couple faint pricks. . . tugging at Zechs's side. . . "Ah. . . How exactly can he be the feline, if I may ask?" the doctor continued, sewing the wound up.  
  
"I don't know," the young Specials leader returned quietly. "If I knew. . . I would undo it."  
  
"The old legend, Sir? Getting bitten?" Sally tried, curiosity starting to get the better of her original uncertainty.  
  
"No," Treize growled. A peek through heavy eyelids told Zechs that he was glaring at the two medical professionals over his shoulder, but those hands didn't stop their gentle motions and he shut them again. "Doctors. . . like you. Some crazy experiment. . . If one word escapes this room on the fact that such as he exists, however, you will be lucky to say another word on /any/ topic after it."  
  
There was no mistaking the warning in the man's voice. Treize would use anything in the considerable resources of the General of the Specials to keep such information quiet. That probably meant assassination, too.  
  
//He sounds so very protective. . . ,// Zechs mused, feeling a stirring of warmth in response that didn't come from the towels draped over his body. //Treize. . . just don't leave me here alone with them. Please.//  
  
"Sally. . ." A final snip. Then, "Thank you. New gloves, please. Now, Your Excellency, I like to think such information as that this young man. . . If I might have a name for him, Sir--?"  
  
"Zechs Merquise," Treize supplied tersely.  
  
"As I was saying, such information that Mister Merquise here has a feline side to his personality. . . Or is it the other way around--?"  
  
"No. He was a man first."  
  
"Open that up please, Sally. . . Thank you. Well, in any case, Sir, such information falls under the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality. I am hardly about to give any such information out, fascinating as it sounds," the bespectacled doctor finished quite seriously.  
  
//Which means. . .?// Zechs wondered, curious and suspicious, seeking the loopholes in this logic.  
  
"And if someone asks you about His Excellency's pet Silver?" Treize asked quietly, carefully.  
  
A rough laugh from the elderly doctor. "A cat or a man, a patient is a patient! You will have no worries from me. However. . ."  
  
Zechs's ears perked, and his eyes flicked open, narrowing angrily. //Now it comes. . .// "However?" he growled softly.  
  
Treize's hands left his hair and smoothed it firmly against his upper back, stroking. "Shhhh. . . Let me handle this," he assured. Then he snapped at Dr. Hollender, "However what?"  
  
There was amusement in the old man's voice. "A blood sample. I have no doubts there will be future calls for me--or possibly Sally here after I'm long gone--but anesthetics, medications, even testing methods for various illnesses, they will all have to be tested and altered for his differences, you see. What works for a cat may not for a man, and vice versa, with potentially harmful results. And from your earlier response, even you don't know how different his blood is, or how differently his body reacts to such."  
  
"We need it to work on such things," Sally added. "Without knowing how different he is, we could easily overdose, under dose, or essentially poison him by mistake."  
  
"I. . . see," Treize stated grimly. "So we have no choice but to trust you, you are saying."  
  
//No, we can't. . . We can't trust anyone, except perhaps Dorothy. . . The risk. . . ! We /can't/!// Growling, Zechs glanced up at Treize, trying to convey his disapproval of that notion without words.  
  
Soothing strokes continued to smooth his hair gently, wringing the last dampness out into the towel on his back. "What do you want from all this?" the older man wanted to know, voice dangerously soft.  
  
Dr. Hollender snorted, cheerfully returning, "Sir. . . do you know what kind of a challenge this is? What a mystery exists in deciphering the changes, what each change means, how each change could have been made, seeing how each affects him? It's better than any detective-novel ever written! I know doctors who would drool at the opportunity. . . and lucky for you, I am one of them, and I know Sally is another."  
  
A glance at the young woman found her nodding and smiling shyly in agreement.  
  
//They find experimenting like that. . . fun?// Zechs blinked.  
  
"Very well," Treize acceded. "But not until he is better."  
  
//But--!// Zechs wanted to protest, uncertain still.  
  
But soothing hands continued to stroke gently, and Treize sent him a reassuring look, so he stifled his protest and tried to relax, closing his eyes again.  
  
Hands closed on his ribcage, gently pulling up so they could wrap bandages around his sides--  
  
Zechs coughed, and wrenched free with a gasp for breath. //Hurts! Damn ribs!//  
  
A sigh from the doctor. "Broken? Brace yourself now, young Mister Merquise--this will hurt even more, then."  
  
The young man whimpered faintly in anticipation. //I know. . .// He remembered how it felt to break them. . .  
  
The doctor wasn't kidding. When they pressed on his ribs with careful hands, probing to find just /how/ badly broken and where, he tried to scream. . . The only reason Zechs didn't was because his voice couldn't hit such notes, even in agony. But it wasn't from lack of trying.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Treize sat on the edge of the bed, still gently smoothing long pale hair, eyes full of concern. //At least it's over now. He can rest, recover. I've sent Lieutenant Une a message about hunting the last man involved in the assassination and she found a few leads in papers the others left behind--so that's as good as done. . . The doctors have gone to come up with some kind of anesthetic that he doesn't have to swallow to get relief from, and there are arrangements for us to go home tomorrow. It's finally over.//  
  
Blue eyes stared back at him, still so uncertain, still full of pain. Bandages were layered thickly over cracked, broken--thankfully not terribly shattered--ribs, one side of his waist wrapped thickly over the bullet wound, Treize's warm robe wrapped over those, and blankets and pillows packed all around. Zechs could hardly move, they had tucked him in so neatly on his better side. They also had made Treize promise to help the younger man shift more to his front or back every few hours. But right now, Zechs could have been anything, he was so padded in cushioning cloth.  
  
//And for that, I'm glad. If anyone else barges in, they might not notice he's human. In fact. . . if I keep him well-wrapped and get those two doctors to help, we can smuggle him home without him having to change. I really don't think that's good for broken bones. . . !//  
  
"Treize," Zechs whispered softly, hesitating.  
  
"Yes?" he asked, bending to place a peck on the fringe of those long bangs. //I hope you don't have a call of nature until morning. They said you can likely move under your own power by morning, if painfully--that you'll have recovered from the blood loss by then. . . but until then. . . I can't carry you--my knee's torn again.//  
  
"I. . . I'm sorry."  
  
Treize blinked in surprise, then frowned slightly, straightening from the kiss. "For what?"  
  
"For. . . failing to catch the last one. For causing these problems. . ." Those blue eyes closed, a faint flush touching those pale cheeks. Ashamed.  
  
Slipping his hand from those silky tresses, Treize stroked a cheek with his thumb. "None of it's your fault. You did more than I could have ever asked of you, Zechs," he whispered, trying to warm the younger man with voice alone. "There is nothing to be sorry for. We did it, and it's over."  
  
Icy eyes opened under his stroking, and a tentative, shy smile peeked from beneath those pale bangs like a rising sun. Such expressive eyes, now that Treize knew how to read them.  
  
//He needs more than words to reassure him,// the older man decided, feeling his hear melting under that gaze.  
  
So again he bent down, and this time captured those lips in a light, affectionate kiss. A faintly metallic taste entered his mouth, but the warmth of the other against his own, the familiar and enticing flavor of his true target, both overshadowed it, urging him to make this more, to wrap his arms about the source and get closer, much closer. . .  
  
//Not now, not yet. He's hurt, and that would hurt him more.//  
  
Reluctantly, Treize drew back a little, just enough to disengage, letting the younger man catch his breath. "You're amazing, Zechs," he murmured huskily. "All I could dream of and more, so much more. You don't believe it now, but someday, someday I will show you, prove it to you, somehow."  
  
Flushed cheeks became a shade darker at his words. "I want to believe," Zechs admitted. "I'm trying. . ." But he knew that so far, he couldn't, and his voice echoed with failure.  
  
"Shhhh. . . Just rest. We have time." With a playful peck on the nose, Treize straightened again, reaching for his cane with a sigh. //There is too little space here for me, too. I have to get to the other side of the bed.//  
  
A hand snagged the one still on the bed to stop him. "Wait. . . Please."  
  
"Yes?" He smiled down at those pleading eyes.  
  
Zechs hesitated, something very vulnerable as visible in his gaze as if pressed against a glass window. "Stay here," he finally begged, voice so soft that Treize could barely hear it, having to almost read those lips he had kissed only moments ago to know what was said.  
  
Dark blue eyes appraised the remaining bed space, and a thoughtful hand brushed mussed ginger hair back. //It will be tight. . . ,// he decided uncertainly. "I might roll onto you," he warned.  
  
"You might from the other side, too, if last night was any example," Zechs returned, a little louder than before, a wry, almost playful smile on his lips. "But then, I can shove you off, too, if it becomes too much."  
  
Treize chuckled softly. "True enough. Well, if you hear me thump onto the floor in the middle of the night, then it's all your fault."  
  
Zechs snorted indelicately. "And /how/ pray-tell? I don't think I can move /that/ much, wrapped up like this! The three of you have practically bound me in a cocoon!"  
  
//You might if I hurt your ribs again, though,// Treize sighed to himself. But he reached out and pulled the covers aside, carefully maneuvering himself into place against the younger man, trying not to jar the bed or occupant. "I tend to roll, if you're in here," he pointed out.  
  
"Only until you find me, it seems," came the faint whisper, as a blonde head tucked to fit under Treize's chin.  
  
"Are you comfortable?" Treize asked worriedly.  
  
"As much as I can be," Zechs returned against his throat softly, sounding content.  
  
"Good." Pulling his head back to look into the younger man's eyes again, Treize dove in for another soft kiss, a short one, even as he reached back to flick off the light. "Good night."  
  
The way those icy eyes shone back, even as the light went out, the older man could have sworn that they glowed with far more than their normal luminescence. . . "Good night, Treize."  
  
//I love you, Zechs. . .//  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------- To be continued.  
  
Happy holidays everyone! 


End file.
